Nest of Vipers
by Inara
Summary: In a world where Voldemort triumphs, Hermione Granger and Charlie Weasley's self identities are in danger. Both must struggle for all they fight for...even it if means joining their enemies.
1. An Elegant Summons

**Chapter:** (01) - An Elegant Summons  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF  
**Summary:** In a world where Voldemort triumphed, Hermione Granger and Charlie Weasley, the sole survivors of Dumbledore's legacy, face the greatest of all crises that threatens the very core of their self-identities. Both find that they must struggle to maintain the hunger that motivates all that they fight for...even it if means joining their enemies.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This is a piece of fiction based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and her various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author notes:** _Harry Potter_, to me, is a story of a very troubled world, and the journey of a special boy through this world. He encounters people whom are good, are bad, and are in between. And though she wrote of a culture filled with magic and with many mythical creatures, her fictitious culture is essentially about _human _culture. How often, when things do not go in our favor, do we say, "I wish I could do magic and fix that"? In the world of Harry Potter, they do have magic, and yet the world they live in is still imperfect. There is poverty, there is hatred, there is racism, and there is corruption – on both sides. Characters such as Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have such long and complicated histories, that for them to get together is a painful and complex process. Glossing it over or idealizing it (i.e. when Draco decides that being Muggleborn is okay, or that he never supported his father, etc.) does not do it justice.

So I set a task for myself: in the real world, how would two such people unite? And I decided that their story was not just a story of romance – there were many other issues I wanted to address and many assumptions I wanted to challenge. The resultant story, _Nest of Vipers_, has become a story of horrific despair and conversely, of unforeseen hope. The people in it live in a world that is on the verge of collapse, and both sides need to make compromises in order to live peacefully.

But whether they are _capable _of that compromise remains to be seen.

------

_At the Battle of Hogwarts, as that fateful day is now called, the Order of the Phoenix was dealt a massive, debilitating defeat. In retrospect, however, it was the political landscape of Britain that caused such a battle to happen. _

_The Order's ultimate goal of removing Lord Voldemort from power was unlikely, and their raids of Death Eater meetings was a bad tactical move on their part. Albus Dumbledore, though wise and determined to see justice done, was weakened from years of fighting not only on the battlefield but also in politics. His heir, albeit unofficially, was a man still trapped in boyhood at the age of eighteen. Harry Potter was young, untested, and filled with a desire for vengeance. _

_At the time, the Death Eaters were being arrested by the dozens, their safe houses infiltrated, and their main leader in Azkaban Prison. It seemed a ripe time to deal the Dark Side a crippling blow. _

_However, Lord Voldemort, though plagued by bouts of insanity, was foresighted enough to anticipate such a tactic, and after breaking Lucius Malfoy out of prison and collaborating with his spy, Severus Snape, he turned the Order's surprise attack into an ambush by meeting them on the grounds of Hogwarts. _

_The crippling blow had become a crippling defeat. Surprise, the Order's strongest weapon, was lost, and the anticipated chaos of the Death Eaters was prevented from happening. _

_It began when Severus Snape turned his wand upon Rubeus Hagrid. The half-giant often acted as Dumbledore's bodyguard, so the need to eliminate him was paramount. It was why Snape had lured Hagrid away from the other witches and wizards before the surprise attack. With him out of the way, Snape was free to get rid of other obstacles, such as Professors Flitwick and Sprout. McGonagall was the only real threat, but she could not be killed immediately. She had information, which Lucius Malfoy would extract from her. _

_Dumbledore had been summoned to the courtyard, where Voldemort had been waiting for him. Though the years had been unkind to both of them, Voldemort had the edge. Dumbledore could not withstand the onslaught for long, and without the other members of his order to help him, he eventually faltered. _

_Harry Potter, for once not at the scene of action, appeared too late from where he had been fighting off dementors intent on preying on the younger students. Harry Potter, the hope of Dumbledore, should have stood back and considered his options. There were many more days left in which he could have fought. And perhaps, if Ronald Weasley had not been fighting Death Eaters inside the castle, he could have pulled Harry away. Perhaps if Hermione Granger had been with Harry instead of with Professor Sinistra, her reasoning could have penetrated the cloud of anger in his mind. _

_"Perhaps" is the saddest of all words of tongue or pen. _

_Harry did not stop and think but followed Dumbledore to his doom. _

_Voldemort had won. The Order was now scattered throughout Britain. They lacked a leader, and most importantly, they lacked a cause. In the first true act of his reign, Voldemort ordered the surviving members of the Order be hunted down. _

_Everyone who opposed Voldemort was to be executed…except for two. _

_Thus did Voldemort end the war he had first propagated so many years ago. _

_--- The New History of Britain, Book I__, faithfully transcribed by Parvati Patil._

_------_

"I don't think it's a good idea." Charlie Weasley wrapped strong hands around his mug of tea. "It's too dangerous."

Hermione Granger looked inside her mug, as if hoping the tea would give her answers. "I don't think we have a choice, Charlie."

Both fell silent again.

Silence. Something almost unheard of in the Burrow. But then again, the Burrow was always filled with the Weasleys. Arthur, Molly, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. During summers and winter holidays, Hermione and Harry Potter would also be found here as well.

Eleven people.

Of whom only two had survived.

It had been too fast, too sudden. Voldemort had attacked more quickly than expected. Only a month after Harry, Ron, and Hermione's graduation. Even Dumbledore had been unprepared. And now he was dead too – killed by the Dark Lord in a showdown. Harry, too shocked to be able to process the fact that the Greatest Wizard in the World was dead, had unthinkingly charged after him. And Ron, the ever-faithful sidekick, had accompanied Harry to his doom.

Soon after, Arthur Weasley was executed for high treason. Treason. _In whose eyes?_ Molly and her children had tried to resist, but one by one they had been hunted down and killed. All except Charlie, who for some unknown reason had been allowed to live. Charlie and Hermione.

Pushing back the sobs that were threatening to overtake her, she looked up at Charlie again. "After all, there must be a reason why we are still sitting here and not with them." She didn't need to explain who "them" was. Her eyes fell to the letter that lay innocently between them. It had been delivered early this morning by an eagle owl. The _Malfoy_ owl. It was a polite letter written in the elegant script one would expect from Lucius Malfoy – but the unmistakable threat that the words couched was palpable.

_Mr. Charles Weasley: _

_ It is my regret to inform you of the deaths of Minerva McGonagall and Remus Lupin. They died valiantly, and I am sure that their memories will remain with you. But you must also realize that with the deaths of your former professors, you are now without any living allies. We know that both you and Miss Granger are still in hiding near Ottery St. Catchpole, and though it would be easy for us to come and forcibly retrieve you, I hope that a more pleasant agreement can be made between the two of us._

_ The world is changing, Mr. Weasley, and it would be foolish if two such bright minds did not change with it. If you wish it, places can be found for the both of you in this new world. If you are interested, come to Malfoy Manor tomorrow evening at five, and please bring Miss Granger with you. For your convenience, I have enclosed a portkey._

_ And do rest assured. No harm shall come to you tomorrow._

_ Sincerely yours,_

_ L. Malfoy._

"But we are out of our league here, Hermione. Won't He-Who-," at Hermione's glare, he amended, "won't Voldemort see through us?"

"Our first priority isn't to convince Voldemort. It's to convince his right-hand people, like Malfoy and Snape." The pair shared pained glances at this. Snape had somehow managed to remain alive – perhaps because Voldemort wasn't aware that he didn't have Snape's loyalty, or worse yet, because Voldemort had never lost it.

Charlie stood and walked over to the sink and washed his mug. Although tall, Bill, Percy, and Ron had been slightly taller. But Charlie was stronger – and thanks to the many years he had spent under the sun, he was tan and freckled. "Malfoy and his ilk are not to be trusted."

"Of course not," snapped Hermione. "Have you forgotten that Malfoy Jr. was my classmate and eternal nemesis?" Hurt swiftly passed over Charlie's features. "I'm sorry, Charlie," sighed Hermione.

He returned to his seat. "Hermione, I miss everyone just as you do. And I want just as much revenge. But walking into Malfoy's home – and offering our allegiance! Even if I could lie convincingly, I don't know if I could stomach it. To work with people who are responsible…" his sentence drifted off as he glanced around the kitchen again, undoubtedly remembering happier mornings in the burrow. Shifting his gaze back to Hermione, he attempted a half-hearted smile. "Now that we know that we're going to be left alone until tomorrow, what do you say we venture outside for a walk? We've been inside this house far too long." _Where there are too many memories_, was the unspoken thought.

She nodded. "You're right. Fresh air will clear our minds. Besides, we don't have to reply immediately."

An hour later, Charlie and Hermione were wandering the small village that was Ottery St. Catchpole. In her previous visits, the small village had been bursting with life. Friendly neighbors would converse with them, and depending on the weather, welcome them inside either for a glass of lemonade or hot tea. But now the village was silent and destroyed. No noise could be heard for miles, for even the birds seemed to have fled.

The pair finally reached the summit of a hill over looking the village, a place that Charlie and Bill had often come to. Memories assaulted him now.

_"Come on, Charlie!" laughed Bill. "For someone who's so fast on a broom, you're really slow on the ground!" Bill kept running faster, his sixteen year-old frame already tall and lanky._

_ Charlie followed, a scowl marring his handsome features. "I'll get you!"_

_ A twenty-six year-old Bill. "Don't worry," he gasped, blood oozing from the crude knife injury in his stomach. "I'll be okay."_

_ "No, you won't," wept Charlie as he cradled his dying brother closer. "You won't."_

_A seven year-old Bill. "You stole my favorite socks, didn't you? Mum, Charlie took my socks!"_

_ "What socks?" asked Charlie innocently…too innocently._

_"I'll avenge you," promised Charlie to the dying Bill._

_ Bill weakly shook his head. "You're the last remaining Weasley. You have to survive."_

_ "Not without you!"_

_ Bill looked wonderful in his graduation robes – to Charlie, Bill was the most perfect person in the whole world. "I'll miss you, Bill. I've always had you looking after me at Hogwarts."_

_ Suddenly his brother embraced him, and Charlie was greatly comforted by the reassuring sound of his brother's heartbeat. "Only one more year, and then you can be anywhere you want to be...even with me, if you wish it."_

_ "Be my legacy…" Bill's heart stopped beating._

_ "Bill, no!"_

Charlie was roused by a sharp sting of pain on his cheek. He opened his eyes to see a frightened Hermione, her hand trembling in the air. "Charlie, you were in a trance, and you were screaming." She gestured helplessly. "I didn't know what else to do."

He forced his memories to the hidden part of his brain. "I'm sorry, Hermione." He sat down at the base of a tree, and opening his arms, he beckoned Hermione into them. She sat down next to him and allowed him to wrap his arms around her. His eyes pricked with tears again – how many times had he held Ginny like this? His eyes softened as he examined the petite figure in his arms. He was used to the defiant, vibrant Hermione Granger. Not this defeated shell of a girl. He reached over and clasped her hand. "I'll do it. As long as we live, we'll fight. We'll get our vengeance. The Malfoys, Snapes, everyone else…they will pay. Even if we have to join them."

She raised her head to look at him, a look of incredulity plastered on her weary features. There was no need for her to ask what it was. "Okay," she murmured before leaning into his embrace again.

------

_Mr. Lucius Malfoy:_

_ We accept your invitation to Malfoy Manor. Miss Granger and I will arrive at the specified time._

_ Sincerely yours, _

C. Weasley 


	2. Into the Snake Pit

**Chapter:** (02) - Into the Snake Pit  
**Chapter** **Summary:** A visit to Malfoy Manor, where Severus Snape makes an unwelcome appearance.  
**Author notes: **Thank you all for such very nice first reviews! And thanks to a reviewer, I've changed the settings to accept anonymous reviews…so no excuses for not reviewing! J They certainly are encouraging me to continue with this tale. For those of you looking for a happy Hermione and Draco fic, this story isn't for you! This story is darker by its very nature, and it deals with some adult themes. No roses and candy here.

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_The original intention__ of the new government was to destroy the Order of the Phoenix; all its members were declared outcast, criminals by nature. Several of them had perished during the Battle of Hogwarts, but many remained during the war that followed. Lucius Malfoy and others were given the task of hunting them down. The members of the Order, however, were not easy to find – not only did they hide with skill, they virtually created a rebellion in their efforts to survive, bringing many to awareness of Voldemort's wrongdoings long before they would have come up with the idea on their own. _

_As the years passed, the bounties and hunting parties increased in size, as did the rebellion, until the Second Battle of Surrey, where Draco Malfoy rescinded the active orders to hunt the surviving members of the Order down; in that moment, those witches and wizards became worth no more than any other rebel. Reasons for the move remain unknown, and it is considered one of the few puzzling things of Draco Malfoy's reign._

--- _The New History of Britain, Book III_

------

Hermione nervously stood in front of Ginny's mirror. Although it galled her to do so, she had made the effort of appearing as impeccably groomed as possible for her interview – or perhaps sentence – that would take place today. Lucius Malfoy was known for his elegance and taste, and for a ragged Hermione and Charlie to appear on his doorstep would be an insult that they could not afford to give him just yet.

Most of her clothes and possessions were missing or destroyed, and thanks to the Ministry, which was now securely controlled by Lucius Malfoy, whatever assets her parents had were gone. Under normal circumstances, muggle money was beyond wizarding control, but since the Grangers had left everything to their daughter, the money had been transferred to Hermione's Gringotts account. Unfortunately, that had been a very bad idea, for a few months later, Voldemort's new government had left her penniless. Charlie was suffering through the same dilemma – although he jokingly said it was really no different from his previous circumstances.

But even though Hermione could not afford a new set of formal robes, she had managed to save her favorite set of dress robes. It was perhaps too cheery for today's occasion, as it was a summer lilac color, but then again, it was far better than the worn down day robes she had. And although she could have borrowed from Ginny's closest, the grief was still too great for Hermione to wear the youngest Weasley's clothes.

With trembling hands, she brushed out her hair, which was now thick and wavy. Deciding to tie the mass back with a plain ribbon, she pulled her hair back and worked the ribbon into her hair. Satisfied, she stepped back and examined herself carefully. The robes were of light silk, and the borders were hemmed with dark purple flowers. It was more suited to her figure, and it emphasized her slender neck and small waist. It was a lovely outfit, to be sure, and she deeply regretted having to wear this today. The last time she had worn it was during her graduation party…

_"Wow, Hermione." Ronald Weasley was speechless as he eyed one of his best friends. "You look beautiful."_

_A pleased blush stole across her features. "Ron, be serious."_

_He gazed at her intently, a hidden meaning hovering in the warm blue eyes. "I promised you once that I would never lie to you, unless it was to keep you safe." He reached into the pocket of his own graduation robes – a new set that had been a gift from Percy – and pulled out a narrow, rectangular box. "This is for you."_

It had been a delicate bracelet of gold, a token of promise from Ron to Hermione. She had worn it faithfully until the day he had followed Harry into battle.

_"Keep this with you, Ron, so you can give it back to me."_

But the bracelet had never returned to her, and neither had the person who had given it to her.

Today, with this dress, the loss of the familiar, comforting weight on her wrist was even more noticeable. Forcibly moving her attention from her wrist, she examined her face now. Her skin was too pale, her cheeks were hollow, and her eyes lacked their customary sparkle. And unlike her body, she could not dress up her face. Briefly she considered using makeup, but a small trace of pride within her stayed her impulse. _I look this way because they did this to me. I have no cause for shame_.

Smoothing her robes with shaky hands, she made her way out of Ginny's room and headed downstairs, where Charlie was waiting for her. He too was dressed in a crisp set of robes, and his normally wild hair was neatly brushed. "Are you ready, Hermione?"

The message in his eyes was clear. _Say the word, and I will send back the portkey_.

"I'm ready," she said firmly. He nodded at her briefly before pulling the envelope from his pocket.

"If I didn't hate Malfoy so much, I really would admire his ingenuity," he remarked as they made their way outside. The day was bright and warm, the sun beaming down at them almost happily. "The portkey is the letter. We just have to touch our wands to it."

Hermione nodded distantly. "His son certainly inherited his father's intelligence." When they reached the little clearing outside of the Burrow, she withdrew her wand and waited for Charlie to do the same. Then, in a synchronous movement, they touched their wands to the letter.

The Burrow disappeared.

"To be frank, I was pleasantly surprised that you accepted my summons." A tall man, he had been graced with silky, pale blond hair and equally pale gray eyes. Dressed in clothes of black and gray, he seemed to be a figure from old, aristocratic France. Elegant in every way, his study was something that Hermione approved of – even if she hated the man himself. Books lined every shelf on the walls, and several ceiling to floor windows allowed sunlight to stream into the room. The colors were muted maroon and ash, and the furniture was of sturdy cherry wood. It was a gentleman's study.

"We didn't have much choice, did we?" snapped Hermione. Seated next to her in a plush armchair, Charlie flashed her a look that said,_ Be careful_.

Malfoy chuckled, his laugh a warm, rumbling sound. "Ah, Miss Granger, you are quite mistaken. You did have a choice – to accept or to die." He flashed her a dangerous smile. "Death would have been a very – Gryffindoric – choice to make."

"Gryffindors aren't cowards." Charlie's voice was firm, and for a moment, it seemed he had forgotten that he was correcting Voldemort's right-hand man.

"I did not say they were. But they are foolish." Silver eyes glittered over the rim of his glass. "The choice you made in coming here today was rather Slytherin of you. Please spare me the insulted look, Miss Granger. As much as you would like to deny it, Slytherins have some very good characteristics – such as the ability to adapt." Malfoy leaned forward. "And both of you have made that first step in adapting by coming here today."

Tired of such banter, Hermione decided to go straight to the point. "Mr. Malfoy, why have we been summoned here today? If we are going to die, we would appreciate it if you would simply tell us and stop wasting our time."

But instead of taking insult, he regarded them both for a few seconds before speaking. "I have a proposition to offer both of you." He stood and went to the window behind his desk. The filtered sunlight through the delicate glass gave him a sort of unearthly look. "As you know, many intelligent and skilled wizards are dead."

"That's because you killed them."

"Miss Granger, please allow me to finish." At her stiff nod, he continued. "I do not expect you to understand the necessity for disposing of them – indeed, I have no intention of explaining to you why. But the fact remains that many important positions are left open." He turned to face them. "You may have asked yourself why neither of you have joined the rest of your unfortunate friends and family. The answer to that is quite simple – because we feel that you are still useful to us."

Charlie clenched his hands. Hermione reached over and covered his hand with hers. "If you think we're going to work for you," began Charlie, anger threading through his normally calm voice.

"That is exactly what I think," interrupted Malfoy. "If you had no interest in making a compromise, then you would not have appeared on my doorstep."

"I'm muggle-born, Mr. Malfoy, and Charlie is the son of a man you publicly despised. I fail to see why you would wish for our service. And even if you have a good reason, you forget that Voldemort murdered our friends and family."

His eyes glittered coldly. "I will not deny that I do not approve of muggle-borns. But I am not so foolish as to deny that they are not useful. Regardless of your unfortunate parentage, you are still a talented witch, more so than your deceased friends." Although Malfoy's words were a compliment, the sneer on his face made his opinion in the matter very clear. "As for Mr. Weasley – the Weasleys were purebloods, and it is important that we preserve such bloodlines. Charles's athletic abilities, magical talent, and affinity with highly dangerous animals made him the prime choice for preservation."

Hermione felt sick. It seemed as if Voldemort and his followers had played god by choosing who was worthy of life and who was not. "And what _uses_ do you have for us?" Hermione's voice was shaking, although she could not tell if it was from either anger or the cold fear pooling in her belly.

"That remains to be seen. Over the next few months, both of you will be evaluated to see where your particular talents can best be applied." _And if you really are a use to us_. The unspoken thought hovered in the air. "You can, of course, decline now or later. But then only one option remains to you, and it would be a _pity_ to see such minds wasted. Whether you choose it or not is entirely up to you." Malfoy walked around his desk to stand in front of them.

Charlie forcibly calmed his breathing, but Hermione could see that he wanted to strike the coolly poised man in front of him. "And our assets? Will you return them to us?"

Malfoy leaned against his desk, an image that strangely reminded her of the time she saw Siberian snow tigers in a zoo once – silver, dangerous, and ready to pounce. "Ah," he murmured. "Forgive me for being indelicate, Mr. Weasley, but even if your assets are returned, they will hardly improve your current situation. Or yours, Miss Granger," he added as an afterthought. "But yes, all your confiscated assets shall be returned to you."

"Forgive me, Mr. Malfoy, but your offer seems too generous. There is something else." Charlie's eyes glittered just as coldly.

A familiar, deep voice answered from behind them. "Your astuteness does you credit, Mr. Weasley." A tall, dark-haired man entered their field of vision. "It is quite a shame that it was wasted in Romania for several years."

"Professor Snape." Somehow the name that fell from Hermione's lips was part blasphemy, part astonishment, and part prayer.

Their old Potions Master gave them cold looks. "Due to Lord Voldemort's…benevolence, you both have been permitted to stay alive. However, there is a price attached to your lives." A look of discomfort crossed his face. "Both of you are aware of the Dark Lord's parentage, so it should come as no surprise that he has taken a personal interest in the welfare of Miss Granger, and he has always taken an interest in purebloods. He is prepared to forgive your familial background if you agree to swear an oath of allegiance to him."

Hermione reached over and grasped Charlie's hand, mostly in an effort to keep him from attacking either Malfoy or Snape. Malfoy saw the gesture, and another sneer crossed his face. "If you swear the oath, you will be rewarded quite handsomely."

"All for a simple oath?" whispered Hermione.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "An oath is never simple, especially one to our lord. He will hold you to it."

"I don't understand why we are so important."

"Because, Mr. Weasley, our lord says you are."

An hour later, Snape, Malfoy, Hermione, and Charlie emerged from the study. "Think about our offer." Snape fixed them both with stern glances. "Do not indulge in a typical show of Gryffindor idealism and reject our proposal."

Malfoy handed them another envelope. "A portkey," he explained. "We will give you this night to think upon our offer. By noon tomorrow I will send an owl to you." He leaned down and gave Hermione a chilling smile. "I trust you know which answer would be the best for you."

"After noon tomorrow, you will be hunted again. Make your decision wisely." Snape and Malfoy stepped back as Hermione and Charlie withdrew their wands. "Have a pleasant evening."

"To you too, sir," muttered Hermione before Malfoy Manor disappeared from her sight.

That night, Hermione considered the proposal. The terms that Snape had laid down were generous. He would provide her with a home, money, and education – only if she became his apprentice, and only if she swore the oath. Charlie would be under Malfoy's wing, although Hermione could not fathom why Malfoy would want a dragon tamer.

But could she work with Snape? He must have betrayed Dumbledore, for how else would he have survived? It disappointed her because out of all her teachers, she had secretly respected Snape the most. She had believed that Slytherin House could be redeemed through their Head of House.

Apparently not.

Yet the idea had its merits. If she and Charlie could rise through the echelons of the new society and then betray the people they had sworn to trust – vengeance would certainly be served. After all, she would swear an oath to Voldemort, but it would not break the previous oaths she had made.

_Hermione held her father as he died. "I will avenge you," she promised._

_"No," he rasped. "Take care of your mother." Hermione did not have the heart to tell him that her mother was already dead._

Charlie entered the room slowly. Hermione stood at the far end of Ginny's room, one arm resting on the ledge of an open window. Her back was to the door, so she was unaware of his presence. He stopped for a moment and watched the woman silhouetted against the twinkling stars. Her tattered dressing gown was a far cry from the elegance of her dress robes, and her hair was mussed, as if she had just woken up from sleep. He took a few steps closer, as he was reluctant to disturb her cherished solitude.

He must have made a noise, for she gestured for him to come closer. "It's amazing to think about how distant those stars are." Her normally cheerful voice sounded almost dead. Charlie moved closer and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. "They are so far away that a simple glance means a journey back in time." Her brown eyes met his in a mixture of resignation and loss. "Sometimes I wish that it was as easy to map the life of a person as it is to map the life of a star." Her eyes went back to the night sky. "But I suppose life wouldn't be worth living if you knew how every phase would end."

"What is it, Hermione?" He wiped the tears off her face, distantly thinking how he had done this before when she had been younger. She had often spent holidays at the Burrow, and Ron would often upset her. Charlie would come to the rescue by knocking sense into his brother and convincing Hermione that Ron didn't mean what he said.

"I hate losing," she said finally. "I never want to admit defeat, much less pay the consequences of failing to win."

Charlie tilted her chin up. "We haven't lost yet, Hermione." He released her and picked up one of Ginny's old dolls from a nearby table. "Revenge," he sighed. "Is there a more delicious word? Sometimes I repeat it to myself before I fall asleep. It gives me pleasant dreams."

Hermione met his eyes again. "Me too."

Above them, the stars twinkled cheerfully.


	3. All Come Together

**Chapter:** (03) - All Come Together  
**Chapter** **Summary:** Many confrontations. Draco makes a point.

------

_To die fighting is to die free. Should we then tremble in the dark for a few more hours of falsely lived life?_

_--- Sirius Black at the Siege of Vichy, The New History of Britain, Book II_

------

Precisely two minutes before eight o'clock, a light lit on the mantle of a marble fireplace. For one unused to it, traveling by Floo was often dizzying and frightening – but not for Draco. He had been using Floo powder since he was a young child, so he paid the momentary disorientation no mind. Prepared for the sudden sensation of solid ground again, he strode gracefully out of the elaborate fireplace situated in the entrance hall of the Manor but as usual, he did not pause to appreciate the lovely hall. Malfoy Manor was one of the grandest estates in England, and it boasted several gardens and hallways of glass. There were two lakes on the grounds, as well as several acres of forest that served as prime hunting ground. Visitors often likened Malfoy Manor to the fictional grounds of Pemberly in the Muggle novel _Pride and Prejudice_. 

After the house elves had taken his baggage to his rooms, he examined his reflection in one of the decorative mirrors in the hall. Cold gray eyes stared back at him as he swept back a lock of pale blond hair. Although he was hungry and in desperate need of a bath, he instinctively headed towards his father's study. From his earliest days, Draco had been taught to follow the ancient forms of protocol – and that included greeting the head of Malfoy House upon arrival. Smoothing his hair, he made a mental note to get a trim, and then he knocked once and waited for permission to enter.

"Do come in," said the cool, cultured voice of Lucius Malfoy. Draco pushed open the wooden door to be greeted by a familiar sight.

Draco respected only three people in the world, and two of them were gathered in his father's study. Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape were sitting in the leather armchairs in front of the fire, gazing at him with small smiles of welcome. His mother was not present, but that came as no surprise, for she was still in France.

"Ahh, there you are." Lucius beckoned his son over. "And on time as well." Draco bowed to them both before taking a seat nearby. "Tell me, how was your assignment?"

Draco's assignment had been to deal with a financial issue at the Norwegian Ministry, and though it had been prestigious, it had also been very boring. "Successful."

"Your father will make a politician out of you yet, Draco." The silky voice came from his old Potions Master. "Perhaps the next Minister of Magic, hmm?" The friendship between the Malfoys and the Snapes stretched back hundreds of years, and it was a relationship that was preciously maintained. Lucius and Severus had attended school together and had later joined Voldemort's following together. Narcissa was Severus's distant cousin, and Severus was Draco's godfather.

Draco shook his head, the fine pale hair glinting the firelight. "I certainly hope not, Professor." Snape flashed him an amused smile, to which Draco amended, "Severus."

Lucius chuckled, a rare occurrence indeed. "Pour yourself something to drink, my son. We have some matters to discuss."

As he hastened to obey, Draco reflected on the luck of finding both Lucius and Snape in such amiable moods. Although theirs had been the victory, the restructuring of the ministry and all of its peripheral departments had kept Lucius busy. Snape, now retired from teaching, had gone back to his beloved research – although what he was researching was unknown to Draco.

"How is Mother?" he asked as he poured himself brandy.

"Quite well. She sent an owl to me this morning and claims that she has acquired a tan."

Snape snorted in laughter. "A tan or several sunburns?"

Lucius sent him a mock glare. "Really, Severus. Just because my family and I have pale skin does not mean you have to rub it in."

Although their banter sessions were often amusing, Draco was too tired to sit through one now. "Have the vacancies in the Ministry been filled?" He gratefully sank into a nearby armchair.

"That is what we wished to tell you about, Draco." Lucius leaned forward slightly. "For the most part, finding replacements has been easy. We took as many surviving qualified people and gave them jobs, and what remaining positions that were left we handed out as appointee positions."

"Appointee positions?"

"A reward system. Now that the war is over, we had to reward the faithful families for their allegiance. Families such as the Goyles, the Parkinsons – people who are loyal but in the end are useless."

"Combined, they perhaps have one useful brain cell," cut in Snape's dry voice.

Lucius smirked in agreement. "Thus we awarded them offices that really serve no vital purpose. It keeps them happy as well as out of our way, and it saves the truly important positions for more qualified people."

Sipping his brandy, Draco once again admired his father's cunning. He was a much better organizer and politician than Fudge could ever have hoped to be. "How does this affect me?"

Snape stretched. "Did we say that it did?"

"An assumption," responded Draco.

"An astute one," he agreed. "We have recruited two of your former classmates for two of the more qualified positions."

Impatiently glancing at the clock, Draco's only comment was "Zabini?"

"I sent Mr. Zabini to India. His assignment was similar to yours."

"Boring, then." Draco finished off his brandy. "Father, Severus, I would appreciate it if you came to the point. I am tired and in need of a bath and a long nap. My brain is in hardly any state to follow this circular conversation." He allowed his mind to drift to more pleasant things. Perhaps after refreshing himself, he could find a witch at a nearby tavern to entertain him tonight.

Snape shrugged. "We met with Charles Weasley and Hermione Granger earlier this evening."

All thoughts of sleep vanished from Draco's mind. "Weasley? I thought that they were all dead! I killed three of them myself. And Granger – why is that Mudblood still alive?"

"I will tolerate no crassness in this house, Draco," warned Lucius, who was far too elegant to use such vulgar language.

"Yes, sir," he grumbled. "But why are they alive? Shouldn't they be dead by now?" He struggled to withhold the irritation from his voice. One would think that two of Dumbledore's greatest supporters would have been hunted down immediately, not allowed to…frolic in the new order.

Quickly explaining the bargain, Snape finished with, "They are alive because we need them to be alive. Granger is a talented and powerful witch – with more training, she will surpass even her old mentor, McGonagall. Weasley also has much potential."

Draco placed a hand to his forehead. "But do we really need them? Surely you can find someone else to fill whatever positions you need filled."

Lucius waved that suggestion away. "Draco, have you not realized that these jobs are only a front for what we really need them for?" Lucius gazed at his son in expectation.

"Father, please tell me that this is not some form of affirmative action," blurted Draco in horror.

"Draco, you were the brightest student in my house. I do hope you haven't lost any intelligence in the months following graduation," scowled Snape.

The not-so-bright student scowled as well, which caused Lucius to shake his head in exasperation. "As I was saying, they have a powerful affiliation with magic. Draco, I trust that I have your discretion?"

"Of course, Father." Draco ended the stare-contest with Snape and focused on Lucius again.

Lucius and Snape exchanged looks again, as if in reconsideration. Finally, "The Dark Lord has grown weak."

Comprehension dawned in Draco's eyes.

------

Hermione rose the next morning to be faced with another bright and cheerful day. A small, illogical part of her wished that the day had been gloomy and damp, an ideal foreshadower of her future days. But the weather insisted on being cheerful, so Hermione stumbled around Ginny's room as she tried to gain her bearings.

Her rest had been anything but peaceful. Having dreamt of Ron and Harry, she woke up even more tired than she had been before going to bed, and after a quick, bleary-eyed examination in the mirror, she went back to bed.

In many aspects, Ginny's room was still a girl's haven. Because she had been the only girl in the family, Ginny had been pampered to a certain extent. The bedspread and canopy were a pale, pink color, and several trinkets were scattered about the room. There were a few posters of handsome wizards – including one of Gilderoy Lockhart, which had probably been Mrs. Weasley's contribution to the décor.

If Hermione closed her eyes, she could pretend that Ginny was alive. _This was a typical end-of-summer gathering, when Harry and Hermione would come to the Burrow before school started. Ginny would return from the bathroom any minute. Yes, and Ron and Harry are in the next room snoring away, Fred and George are upstairs, Bill and Charlie are in their own room, Percy is up early working on a report, Mr. Weasley is reading _The Daily Prophet_, and Mrs. Weasley is downstairs making breakfast. A typical summer morning._

But just as Hermione became immersed in her fantasy, a sharp rap on the door made her dream dissolve. "Hermione, are you awake?" Charlie's tired voice dispelled any hopes of this being a typical, summer morning.

"Yes, Charlie. Come in." She sat up again and tried to smooth her wild hair.

The door opened. "Do you realize that it's only an hour from noon?" His footsteps drew closer to the bed. "You're usually an early-riser."

"I decided that I ought to do the world a favor today by staying in bed."

He pushed back the curtains and inspected her face critically. "I dare say that you're right. You look terrible." At her scowl, he took a seat at the foot of the bed. "Didn't sleep well either, I see. But once you take a bath and eat some food, you'll feel much better."

She met his eyes. "Are you going to send the letter?"

Silently, he pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. "I wanted you to read it before I sent it off with Hedwig." The mention of the snowy owl brought a smile to Hermione's face. Hedwig, after Harry's death, refused to serve anyone else other than her former master's friends. "Read." He thrust the parchment in front of her eyes.

_Mr. Lucius Malfoy:_

_After due consideration of your offer, Miss Granger and I have decided to accept your terms._

_Sincerely,_

_C. Weasley_

"It's short," said Hermione.

"I prefer to think it succinct." Charlie pushed back his hair, an action that he had unconsciously picked up from Bill. "I think he's the type that appreciates conciseness."

Hermione snorted. "Since when do you care about what Malfoy appreciates?"

He stood up. "Since he now has control over my life," he reminded her tersely. "And you had best remember that as well." He mussed her hair affectionately. "Now get out of bed. I'm making breakfast downstairs." With one last smile, he left Ginny's room.

Once downstairs, Charlie pushed the permanent ache within his chest away, sent the letter off with Hedwig, and resolutely began to prepare breakfast. Molly had been insistent in teaching her children basic household skills, including cooking. In Romania, Charlie had been responsible for his own meals as well, so cooking meals now should have posed no problem.

In theory, at least.

But in the Burrow, each pot, each ladle, each mug – all had memories associated with them. Hermione, who had sensed this, had graciously been cooking for them for the past few days. But Charlie knew it was time he shouldered his own responsibilities, cooking least of all. He would have preferred to die with his family, but by some wicked twist in fate, he was alive. It would dishonor his family if he lived as a human shell.

That meant moving on, and for now, that meant making breakfast.

The Burrow was low on food. There were a few eggs, and although Hermione had baked bread the other day, it was almost gone. Pulling his wand out, he rolled up his sleeves and found his mother's apron hanging from a hook in the wall. It was a bright orange color – a gift from Ron – and he flinched when he saw his reflection in the glass. All things considered, it was probably a good thing he had never played Quidditch for the Chudley Cannons.

_"Oi! Charlie!" Charlie turned to see his youngest brother run after him._

_"What is it, Ron?" Charlie was on his way to meet Elena Mondreal, a very pretty witch he had met in Hogsmeade._

_"Will you please teach me how to fly?" Ron looked up to his brother with soft, pleading eyes._

_"You're going to Hogwarts soon. You can learn it there." Impatient, he looked toward the clock on the wall and straightened his robes._

_"I can't go there inexperienced! Please, Charlie! You're the best Quidditch player that Hogwarts has ever seen!"_

_"I wouldn't say that…"A tiny blushed appeared on Charlie's cheeks. It was one thing to have friends and fawning women say that, but it was entirely different when his own brother said it with such devotion and belief._

_"Well, I say so." His tiny face scrunched up in stubbornness, as if he meant to say, "Well, I say so, and that's the way it's going to be."_

_All thoughts of his date were pushed aside as he crouched down to look Ron in the eye. "Well then, I would be most honored to teach you."_

_Ron flung his small arms around him. "Thank you, Charlie! You're the best brother ever!"_

_"Better than Bill and the twins?"_

_"Loads better."_

_Charlie leaned forward and whispered, "Better than Percy?"_

_Ron rolled his eyes. "Everyone's better than Percy."_

Charlie's hand shook as he pulled out ingredients from the pantry, and with eerie determination, he prepared omelets and toast. Later in the day, he would have to go to the village market and buy some more food.

"Breakfast smells divine, Charlie." Hermione, considerably more fresh-faced, took a seat at the kitchen table.

"We'll need to go to the village today." He placed their plates on the table.

She nodded in agreement. "We have just enough money for today, I think." She smiled ruefully. "Perhaps it is a good thing that we're going to be on Malfoy's payroll. At least now we'll have money."

Charlie aimlessly pushed his food with his fork. "But how easy will it be to survive on Malfoy's money? We aren't even doing honest work."

"We haven't a choice," she said firmly, but the quaver in her voice made her doubts clear.

Hedwig flew in through the open window and hooted in greeting. Absently feeding the beloved owl some toast, Charlie untied the message from her leg.

_Mr. Charles Weasley:_

_I cannot begin to tell you how pleased I am that both of you have accepted. It saves us both from more unpleasant actions. But I must confess that communication through owl is tedious, and I prefer not to talk through the fireplace. It would be in everyone's best interest if both you and Miss Granger brought your belongings to the Manor and dwell with us here. Please come tomorrow morning, for we have no time to waste on your training._

_Severus has requested that Miss Granger join him at his estate tonight for supper at six o'clock this evening._

_Sincerely,_

_L. Malfoy_

"That was quick." Charlie tapped the edge of the letter. "And he doesn't give us much choice, does he?"

Hermione closed her eyes as a headache threatened to overcome her. "He wants us there so he and his minions can keep an eye on us."

"Evil git," muttered Charlie.

She sighed and reluctantly got up. "It's a good thing I'm not very skilled at dueling."

"So Snape and Malfoy can breathe more easily?"

------

At precisely six o'clock, Hermione stepped out of Snape's fireplace and into a comfortable parlor. She would have preferred to apparate, but Snape, like Malfoy, had anti-apparition charms surrounding his home. 

Snape himself was waiting nearby. Clad in robes of black with a white frock shirt underneath, her formidable former potions master looked the same as ever. Even the sneer on his face was familiar. "Miss Granger, so kind of you to arrive on time."

"Yes, sir," mumbled Hermione meekly. Only Snape had ever been able to make Hermione cower.

Amusement flashed briefly in his dark eyes. "Someone else will be joining us for dinner tonight. It will be no bother to you, I trust?" But as polite as the question was, Snape's face suggested that he did not care about her answer.

"No, sir." She was quite pleased that someone else would be here tonight, for she did not feel comfortable around the man who had betrayed Dumbledore. Unless the guest happened to be Lucius Malfoy.

He nodded. "Excellent. Follow me." He led her out into a wide hallway. Hermione had assumed that Snape's ancestral home, Belvedere, would be much like his office and classroom at Hogwarts – dark, damp, and colorless. However, Belvedere was out of the eighteenth century. The beautiful mansion was tastefully decorated in Victorian furniture, and many priceless works of art hung from its walls. "Titian," he remarked when he saw Hermione pause in front of one of the paintings. "The original." He then went into a short explanation of how his family had kept this painting from the early sixteenth century. For Hermione, this was a peek into her reclusive professor's life. Now she knew that his coloring was due to his Venetian ancestry.

She leaned closer. The painting was similar to Titian's renowned _Venus With a Mirror_, but this one featured a woman and two men. The men were trying to capture the attention of the woman, whose gaze was looking beyond them. "It is lovely, sir. What is its title?"

"_Fawning Over Venus_." Snape looked at the painting fondly. "A remarkable piece, is it not?"

"That it is. But if I may ask a question sir?" At his nod, she hesitantly asked, "Titian was a Muggle. By owning his works, are you not paying homage to him?"

He pursed his lips and gave her a significant look. "As a scholar, I appreciate brilliance wherever it is found. And Muggle paintings seem to have more magic than wizarding ones." He gestured toward Venus. "This painting is absolutely still, and yet it is able to convey just as many thoughts and feelings as a wizarding one."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "But don't the rest of the Dark Lord's supporters mind?"

Snape waved that away. "We all have our quirks. This just happens to be mine."

_"Don't tell Molly," whispered Mr. Weasley. "You know how she gets when I bring home Muggle artifacts."_

_"I won't, Mr. Weasley." She followed him into his workroom, where various Muggle objects lay scattered around._

_He reached under his desk and pulled out a box. "Tell me what this is. It fell into my hands yesterday, and I've been brimming with curiosity since then." Hermione leaned forward in excitement to see Mr. Weasley pull out a…nail filer._

_"You use it to smooth and shape nails."_

_His face lit up in excitement. "Muggles invent the most interesting things!" He examined it in light. "How do you use it?" What followed was a lesson on nail care in the Muggle world, a topic that fascinated Mr. Weasley. But although nail filers were common, everyday mundane objects, somehow Mr. Weasley made them seem unique and innovative again. It was as if Hermione were viewing the filer from an entirely different prospect."_

_"ARTHUR!"_

_Mr. Weasley hurriedly put the filer away. "If Molly ever finds it, I can always say that it's a new type of wand. She isn't that fond of this quirk of mine."_

"Miss Granger," interrupted Snape. "I realize that I am devastatingly handsome, but can we please continue on our way?"

Dimly Hermione realized that she had been staring at Snape in her daze. "Sorry, Professor." After gracing her with another sneer, he spun on his heel and marched away, leaving Hermione to hurry after him.

The dining hall was furnished as nicely as the rest of the house, and it looked like it could seat at least a hundred people. Snape crossed the room and went into a smaller antechamber, where a smaller table was set.

And waiting for them was Madam Pince.

The Madam Pince of Hermione's past had been a dour-faced librarian always swathed in robes of dull gray. But this Madam Pince, with brown hair pulled back into a sleek chignon and dressed in fashionable robes, looked ten years younger. "Miss Granger." Even her authoritative tones now held a glimmer of affection.

Snape bowed to her. "Irma. I apologize that I was unable to greet you."

"The house elves showed me in," she smiled. Turned to Hermione, whose eyes were flickering in confusion, "I am glad to see you are well, Miss Granger."

Automatically, she inclined her head and responded with the proper response: "Thank you, Madam."

Snape pulled out a chair for Pince, and once she was seated, he pulled one out for Hermione as well. "Madam Pince is the guest I mentioned earlier," he said unnecessarily.

Hermione nodded politely and distantly listened to the conversation between Snape and Pince. Although several questions were burning in her mind, she held her tongue. From the past seven years at Hogwarts, she knew that both Snape and Pince valued their privacy. She realized that she knew nothing about Hogwart's librarian, save that she was very knowledgeable about a wide range of subjects.

"-some wine?" asked Snape.

Hermione blinked and nodded hastily. "Yes, please." She watched him pour the wine into her class, the deep ruby red reminding her of blood and red hair. "Professor," she asked, a hint of desperation threading her voice, "What is all of this about?"

"It is called dinner, Miss Granger. I believe you have those in the Muggle world?"

Madam Pince hid a smile behind her hand. "Really, Severus, the least you could do is give the child straightforward answers."

Snape glowered darkly at Pince. "Straightforward is hardly the right word." Turning to Hermione, he asked, "I suppose you have some questions?" When she nodded, he folded his hands on the table. "Ask away. I cannot promise you that I will tell you all the answers, but I will endeavor to be as truthful as I can."

That was probably the largest promise Snape could ever make to her. "What capacity will I be serving in?"

"A fair question," he said agreeably. "I am in the process of researching several potions in various areas, such as defense and medicine. Besides Draco Malfoy, you were my brightest student. I will require your assistance."

A compliment from Snape. "Thank you, Professor."

He sneered again. "It was no compliment, Miss Granger. Only the unfortunate truth."

_Leave it to Snape to ruin even a small victory_. Refraining from rolling her eyes, she asked, "If I will be working with you, why must I live with the Malfoys? It seems more inconvenient."

"It is more inconvenient, but it is also highly improper for an unmarried woman to live with an unmarried man without a chaperone." He shrugged ever so slightly. "I would prefer not to cause gossip."

Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes. _Snape concerned about public opinion?_ Taking a deep breath, "Why did you switch sides again? To Voldemort?"

"Oh ye of little faith," muttered Snape, and for a tiny moment, Hermione fancied that she had seen a thread of sadness in his dark eyes.

"So you didn't? You didn't switch sides?" she demanded.

Snape gave her a contemplative look. "I am not on anyone's side," he said finally. "But I am on the side of justice…justice tempered with revenge." The house elves came and cleared away the last remnants of dinner. "Miss Granger, you are aware of my history up until my "return" to the Dark Lord's side?" At her nod, he continued. "Lucius Malfoy and I willingly joined Voldemort in the early seventies. As much as I would like to believe that we had been coerced by some sort of unsavory method, I was fully aware of what I was doing and whom I was agreeing to serve."

"You also know that a few years later, I defected to Albus Dumbledore. In exchange for his trust, I became a spy. A double agent, in fact."

"You mean you lied to both sides?"

He shrugged. "Lied is a strong term. I manipulated information, something that could never be discovered since I was rather unique."

Too shocked to be angry, Hermione could only stutter. "Why?"

"Why is a question that is far deeper than its answer, Miss Granger. I could give you several reasons – that I saw both Voldemort's and Dumbledore's policies as wrong. Do not misunderstand me, Miss Granger. Dumbledore was a great man, and he possessed all the virtues that Voldemort lacked. But it was because of these virtues that made him a weak policy-maker – we all know that Fudge was only a puppet figure in many ways."

"Voldemort is a Muggle-hating, murdering wizard," responded Hermione.

Snape nodded with equanimity. "Yes, he is. But he also appreciates the importance of traditions. Voldemort feared, and rightly so, I might add, that under the liberal wizards running the government, our world would become much like the Muggle one. We share nothing in common with Muggles. Our history, our customs, our laws – we might as well be from another species. Their race is one of destruction and cruelty – always they are fighting over the most trivial issues, and they build weapons of immense destruction, which they fire into their own cities."

He leaned forward. "You live among them. Can you really say that they are as harmless as Arthur Weasley said?"

"But Voldemort speaks of genocide on the mass scale! He wants to kill of Muggles and all Muggleborns!"

"Mostly propaganda by the Ministry offices. When Voldemort first began speaking out against Muggles, there was no talk of killing. After all, purebloods make up only a small percentage of wizarding society. We _needed_ mixed blood members. We only wanted to keep Muggles out of our own society. We wanted to keep our society pure, the way it has been for over a thousand years. In essence, we wanted to quarantine Muggles."

Hermione, carefully pushing away her emotions, relied on her logic and reasoning to ask the question that mattered the most to her: "Where did Muggleborns fit into his society? Where do I fit in now?"

"Muggleborns were still accepted in Voldemort's old conception of stable government. He was, after all, a Muggleborn himself. The discrimination of Muggleborns by purebloods is a far more ancient prejudice, stretching back into the times of Salazar Slytherin."

Madam Pince spoke for the first time since the discussion had started. "Miss Granger, you must understand that not all Slytherins are Muggle-haters and that not all Muggle-haters are Slytherins." Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, she confessed in a quiet voice, "I too was a Slytherin, and I believed in what Voldemort preached all those years ago."

Hermione looked at her former librarian numbly. "You too?"

"There was so much discrimination in those days. Grindewald was a Slytherin, and he single-handedly managed to shred the dignity of our house. Soon people, especially Muggleborns, grew eager to lay the blame of dark magic at someone's feet and pointed to the House of Slytherin." She exchanged a sorrowful look with Snape. "We lost our credibility, and we were faced with a twisted sense of reverse discrimination. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, even Hufflepuffs were given jobs over far better qualified Slytherins. After graduation, very few people of Slytherin House were able to find jobs because no one wanted to hire them. In a way, Voldemort provided us a way to earn money and support families."

"As Death Eaters?" asked Hermione, a heavy note of sarcasm in her voice.

"Voldemort had more people in his employ than Death Eaters. There were people who researched spells and potions, people who managed the wide array of contacts and business transactions, and even people who made the clothing and masks for us." Pince looked away briefly. "In those days, women had a harder time getting jobs, but Voldemort held no such reservations. Women rose in high positions under his command."

Snape steepled his hands. "Slytherin is the house of ambition, after all."

Madam Pince met Hermione's gaze. "I was one of them. After having been refused job after job by wizards who hired men less qualified than I was, Voldemort hired me to research and create new spells. Spells of medicine…" she trailed off. "After Voldemort's defeat several years ago, I was in even worse shape than before. Not only was I a woman, I had been in Voldemort's circle. It had not mattered that the spells I had created were for the betterment of all…no one would give me a job. I would have been forced to more…unpleasant job prospects if Dumbledore had not taken me in." Her eyes flickered away. "And although I was grateful for the job, I was not allowed to teach. So I became a librarian."

Hermione glanced at Snape. "But Professor Snape was allowed to teach. Even if he did have to spy."

Madam Pince shrugged. "Dumbledore trusted me less although I had never even been a Death Eater."

"He also had no problem using the spells you had created, Irma." Snape's scowl was back. "To call you untrustworthy but to use your work freely…and to force you into a job far beneath you but still expect you to supply him with more spells…it was a hypocritical move on his part."

Hermione looked down into her glass, the dark red glinting in the light. She was troubled, for in all her years of learning history from Professor Binns, from listening to stories from elder wizards such as Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, and even Sirius Black himself, not a single person had ever told her about these events. And she knew, without a trace of doubt, that Snape and Pince were not lying to her.

She had seen the reverse discrimination herself, something that she had brushed off because Slytherins were _evil anyway_. How any time something had gone wrong, fingers pointed to Draco Malfoy, how in Hogsmeade, many people would shy away from those wearing cloaks of the Slytherin House. She understood now why some of them, most especially Malfoy and Pansy, had always used the influence of their family to get what they wanted – because they would otherwise be ignored. And those that hadn't had the family name or money had been ignored and shunned. People such as Marcus Flint and Malcolm Baddock, who had relied on their patronage to the upper-class families for survival.

A memory of Harry came unbidden to her mind.

_"You know what Hagrid told me once? He said that there wasn't a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin."_(1)

But that was only what Hagrid, McGonagall, and even Dumbledore had wanted them to believe. Hadn't Pettigrew been a Gryffindor? Emeric the Evil a Hufflepuff? Sebastian of Kent a Gryffindor? Catherine of the Three Hands a Ravenclaw? These evil witches and wizards had been raised with the virtues of loyalty, honor, and bravery.

Then there were the Slytherins, who were taught to use whatever means to an end, to manipulate circumstances in their favor, to outfox the fox. Were those qualities really so bad? Perhaps they could be used toward evil ends, but the witch Edica had persistently searched for and hunted down Sebastian of Kent. The wizard Marcus Eddington had cunningly outwitted the head of the goblin army is 1489. These were Slytherins, who had relied on these devious qualities for good ends. Good people, such as Madam Pince…and Snape.

Snape's cold eyes flashed briefly – perhaps sympathy again?

"But, over time, Voldemort had to pay a price for his heavy use of dark magic. He descended into insanity, and from then on, he began the persecution of Muggles and Muggleborns. It was as if he had forgotten that his family had been Muggles. Many of us in his service found this distasteful. We learned the hard way that quarantine implied separation, a concept that does not, in fact could not, exist in the magical community." Snape's lips thinned. "But there were many who reveled in Muggle killings. Some of them sought to take revenge for decades of unfair treatment."

Hermione wearily closed her eyes as she digested this material. "But you haven't answered my other question, Professor. Where do I fit in now?"

"I have told you that the Dark Lord has taken a personal interest in your welfare. I believe he seeks his own qualities within you."

"That's preposterous!" snapped Hermione. "I'm nothing like him! I'm a Gryffindor!"

"I would think that you would have applied that brain of yours to what we have been explaining to you," said Snape, the cold sarcasm back in his voice. "Regardless, what the Dark Lord thinks is of no consequence to us. Indeed, it is a stroke of luck."

Hermione gave him a blank look. Madam Pince filled her in. "Now that the old government has been abolished…in a very unfortunate way…we must be careful with the new one. Don't you see, Miss Granger? This is our opportunity to change the mistakes, to structure the magical world in a way better for everyone, Muggleborns included. We call ourselves the Alliance of the Faithful, those that want to restore order to the old way of life, the way it was before Grindewald."

"With Voldemort?" snorted Hermione.

Snape paused, and then, "Without Voldemort." He leaned forward again. "And we need you to help us kill him."

Hermione fell back into her chair. "Kill him?" she squawked, disbelieving. "Kill Lord Voldemort? You can't kill Voldemort! How can you kill Voldemort? Not even Harry _and_ Dumbledore could do that."

"Irma, perhaps you were too confident in Miss Granger's intellect." Snape's facial expression was far too familiar to Hermione.

"This is a bit much for me to comprehend all at once," said Hermione, her cheeks reddening with anger and indignation.

Snape poured himself more wine as Hermione distantly appreciated his ability to hold down alcohol. "In all your years as president of Harry Potter's fan club, did you ever wonder why Dumbledore kept sending Harry to fight the Dark Lord?"

The question caught Hermione off guard. "Well, I suppose because Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, and-"

He waved that away. "He could be the Boy-Reincarnated-As-Godric-Gryffindor, but he was still a young and untrained wizard, and it was by sheer luck that he had managed to survive as long as he did." Snape shot her a mocking smile. "Perhaps some of his friends were responsible for that."

"Harry was a powerful wizard," she protested.

"That he was. But what use is unharnassed power? Dumbledore should have allowed Potter to focus on his training instead of wandering the hallways at night with his dratted invisibility cloak. But then again, Dumbledore possessed some rather Slytherin qualities. He was quite an enforcer of the phrase 'Use a sword until it is too blunt for use.' Yes, Miss Granger," he said at the look of sickened comprehension in her eyes. "Dumbledore used Potter in order to survive longer. But Voldemort was by far a wilier Slytherin and saw through his plans."

"He kept his own strength on reserve, on some occasions even increasing it, in order to prepare for his confrontation with Dumbledore. Added to the fact that Dumbledore was ancient even before Voldemort was born – well, I should think the outcome came as no surprise." Snape leaned back. "Unfortunately, Voldemort underestimated his own powers at magical retention. After killing Dumbledore and Potter, as well as several others, he lost much of his own powers as well. Right now, he is so paranoid that he is not even running his own government. He has gone so far as to go into hiding again."

Madam Pince gripped her glass tightly. "Voldemort is weak and almost defenseless. Once his lapdog Pettigrew is killed off, a simple spell will finish Voldemort off for good."

"I don't understand why you need my help. Compared to all of you, I'm nothing."

Irritation crossed Snape's eyes again. "Spare us the melodrama, Miss Granger. And your lack of attention is really quite shameful. As I have already said, the Dark Lord is very interested in you, Miss Granger. Soon, he will request your presence, and you will go to him. You will _be_ like him. And he will think of you as the heir he never had."

"Voldemort does not trust his Death Eaters very much." Madam Pince looked toward the fire. "And although he champions the superiority of Purebloods, he is afraid of giving them too much power. He does not wish to be undermined by people such as Lucius Malfoy."

Snape nodded. "But we have made an oath to him. The spell that binds us to him does not allow us to _do_ anything harmful to him – although we can _speak_ about it."

"You have a unique position, Miss Granger." Madam Pince was all earnestness now. "Like him, you are a Muggleborn who rose through the ranks of society to gain respect, and had circumstances been in your favor, you would have had power as well. Voldemort will not think that you are consorting with your enemies – these Purebloods who have sought to banish you from society."

The cold eyes of Snape glittered at her. "He will try to win you over, and he will try to use you against us. He will try to make you his watchdog – to keep us in check."

But there were loose ends. "What about Veritasum? He will surely use it."

"A good observation, Miss Granger." The approval in Snape's eyes surprised Hermione. "But what if I told you that not all the potions I brewed were solely medicinal or defensive? What if I told you that I am brewing a potion that gives you immunity to Veritasum?"

"How did you…"

He chuckled without any humor. "Many years of research, many failed experiments. But I have done it. And you will drink it."

Hermione glanced from Madam Pince to Snape. Both wore expressions that were unreadable. "This is all so treacherous," whispered Hermione.

Snape's eyes glittered coldly. "It is efficient," he corrected.

Hermione's elbow slipped, and her head almost hit the tabletop. "There's no way. There's just no way!" She steadied her hands. "With all due respect, both of you are mad! Even if I thought that we stood a chance, even if I trusted both of you again, there's no way I could work with you. Your power is from dark magic while mine is not!"

"Do not be so sure of that, Miss Granger," said Snape darkly. "Magic is only magic. Sometimes good is simply another form of evil, and sometimes the most wicked of deeds can lead to the most advantageous of results."

Hermione's head began to pound. _It is not always the same thing to be a good person and a good citizen._

"I thought that you were willing to risk everything to avenge your fallen friends and family." Hermione bridled at his scornful, cruel tone, but he was not finished. "But I suppose that you would rather pine away and mourn their misfortunes."

She gasped, and at that moment, she wanted to do nothing more but cry and sleep. But a sudden flame filled her and strengthened her resolve. "Yes. I'm in."

------

Draco stood in front a door of smooth, paneled oak. It was already close to noon, and he had an appointment with his father in two hours. But two hours was more than enough time. 

He had left his father's house a week ago after hearing the stunning news that the best friend of his most despised enemies would be on their side now, that she would be working for the same ends as he was. He knew that she was now dwelling at his own home, and according to Lucius, a quiet and unobtrusive girl. Draco had read the news and flinched in disgust. How is father managed to despise Mudbloods but still be a courteous host to them was a skill that Draco had yet to master.

And hopefully he would never have to. Unlike his father, who bore no personal resentment against Granger, Draco did. He despised Hermione Granger and all that she represented. Perhaps his resentment was rooted in fear, but Draco did not care. Fear was a healthy emotion, regardless of what Dumbledore had preached, and it could be used toward the most difficult of ends.

_Unfortunate blood_, his father had called her. _She should have been born among us. But we can still use her._

It galled him to have to work with this Granger girl, to view the Mudblood as an equal – at least for the time being. Once Voldemort was gone, perhaps Granger could go as well. After all, she was only a tool being used for the betterment of society. A society without Voldemort's twisted designs and without unwelcome and damaging Muggle influences.

Feeling better, he raised his hand and knocked on the door. He heard the rustle of cloth upon cloth, and a few seconds later, the door opened.

Hermione Granger.

"What do you want?" she spat with a surprising yet pleasant amount of venom.

Draco pushed past her and entered her room. "I see my father has given you the corner room. There is a splendid view of the lake from here." He casually slouched on one of the armchairs and looked Granger over. She looked the same as she had when she graduated. Short, with her mass of brown hair that was doomed to be a curse for the rest of her life. Her plain, unremarkable facial features. Her lack of a generous bosom.

And the hatred burning in her eyes. _That_, at least, was a welcome sight. "For shame, Miss Granger," he said, mocking her with the formal title. "I am fulfilling my duties as a son of this House by greeting one of our most _esteemed_ guests. For sake of manners, shouldn't you be offering me tea?"

He inwardly cheered when he saw the reluctant admission in her eyes. "Fine," she snapped. She conjured a teapot and two cups with saucers.

While she was pouring the tea, he allowed his eyes to wander the room. Her room was decorated in cool colors of pale yellow and white, a fact he was sure had startled Granger when she had first seen the room. Briefly, he wondered if she knew that his mother had grown sick of the traditional silver and green colors and had insisted in a variety of other colors in their house. On her desk were scattered scrolls and books – most likely research she was doing for Snape. The wardrobe on the other side of the room was closed, but he knew that many new and expensive clothes lined the racks within. His father and Snape would not allow Granger to live in high society without at least _looking_ like she belonged.

Even if her blood made it impossible.

"How is it, working for Snape?" he drawled.

Handing him the saucer and cup, she took a seat across from him. "Difficult," she admitted. "Snape is a demanding task-master."

"I would imagine it to be so." They were silent then, but it was an almost pleasant sort of silence. And then, "Father tells me that you spend most of your time in the library." Apparently it had been the proper thing to say because the frost in her eyes diminished just a little bit.

"Yes. Your father was gracious enough to allow me access to all the books in there."

"There is quite a good collection," he agreed with the tiniest hint of pride. "It is unfortunate that you are not inclined to read books on dark magic. We have the most interesting selection of spell books, and my favorite – _Applications of Unicorn Blood during the Full Moon_."

A spark of interest lit her eyes before disappearing a moment later. "I would much rather read the books on divination," she said with her normal amount of prudishness.

"Your loss," he remarked unsympathetically. "Where is your sidekick Weasley?"

"Charlie is not my sidekick."

Draco smirked. "Is that so? I would have thought that one Weasley was like any other – replaceable and poor."

Her expression did not change, but her fingers turned white as they gripped her teacup. "Malfoy, I would appreciate it if you would leave now. I have nothing more to say to you."

He stood languidly. "Struck a nerve, have I? I'll have to remember that."

"It would be just like a Slytherin to manipulate such things," she hissed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "And it's just like a Gryffindor to be so dramatic." He leaned closer so that his breath was hot on her face. "I will manipulate whatever I see fit to get what I want."

She jerked back her head. "Whether for good or evil?"

"Good and evil are two sides to the same coin, Granger girl." He moved toward the door. "Besides, I think that you are afraid. Afraid to see that some of these _evil_ Slytherin qualities are admirable, afraid because you have already begun using them." His cold eyes narrowed in triumph. "Afraid that you will turn into a Slytherin."

"Don't be ridiculous. I was sorted into Gryffindor. Not Slytherin."

He shook his head. "You were eleven years old when you were sorted, Granger. At the time, you believed in all those silly qualities of foolhardy bravery and stupid loyalty. But you are different now. Experiences have shaped you into a different person. But whether you like who you have become or not is another matter entirely."

The sudden anguish in her eyes proved that he had gotten through to her. But then her eyes grew darker, and he wondered if they were filled with anger, fear or hate – most likely all three. That was just as well. He preferred Granger only when she was coldly determined, fueled by thoughts of revenge. Not lovesick Granger. Not sympathetic Granger. But _angry_ Granger.

She spoke, her voice surprisingly firm and composed. "I will remain what I am, no matter what else is done to me."

Inclining his head, he quietly exited the room and left Granger with her troubled thoughts. But the triumph that he had been expecting at proving a point to the know-it-all was strangely non-existent. If Draco had not known any better, he would have called the feeling guilt. But he did know better...didn't he?

Making his way to his room, he entered the haven with a sigh of relief. This place had been his since his earliest days, and while the decorations had changed year to year, everything in it was _his_. His father and mother, who controlled most aspects of his life, rarely intruded upon his own domain. Stripping off his cloak and boots, he padded over to the far side of his room to his own wardrobe. Reaching behind it, he pulled out a small box of wood. It had been a gift from Snape many years ago, and over time, it had been filled with trinkets and other useless things – things that had no purpose save for the memories they held.

Sprawling onto his bed, he opened the box carefully. He pulled out a slender green ribbon that his mother had given him when he had been a young boy. Then there was the tiny marble elephant his father had brought back from India. Next came out a piece of glass from a window he had shattered before he had gone to Hogwarts. He had been playing Quidditch with some of his friends, and he had managed to catch the snitch – only to crash into the window of his father's study.

Lucius had _not_ been happy.

Beneath the box was another secret compartment, which contained only one object. He allowed it to lie there before he reluctantly reached in and pulled it out.

The delicate bracelet gleamed brightly in his hands as the sunlight from the windows filtered in.

_"I have you cornered." Draco twirled his wand in his right hand. Ron Weasley furtively glanced around the deserted room as he desperately sought another way out. "Too bad you allowed yourself to be trapped with me." He moved in on the redhead. "And you don't even have your wand. Tsk tsk."_

_"Shut up, Malfoy," sneered Weasley. "I don't need my wand for the likes of you." Suddenly, he launched himself at Draco. They struggled for possession of Draco's wand, which fell from his hands. Deprived of wands, they fought as common Muggle street brawlers, fist to fist._

_Blood spilled and covered every inch of their skins, yet they fought on._

_No words were needed._

_But while head locked by Weasley, Draco noticed that the end of an upturned table leg was particularly sharp, and when he finally became free of Weasley's hold, he pushed his enemy onto the table._

_The leg acted as a spike._

_"So you won," hissed Weasley in pain._

_"So I did," said Draco, an unwelcome hollowness in his stomach. His feet making footprints in Weasley's blood, he moved closer to the shuddering and bleeding body and allowed a reluctant flare of admiration for Weasley. A poor Muggle-lover he may have been, he still had fought well. Gently pulling his body off the stake, he lowered Weasley to the ground._

_"What are you doing?" gasped Weasley. "I'm already dying. There isn't much else you can do to me to hurry it up."_

_Draco rummaged through his pockets and found a handkerchief. Wiping Weasley's face, Draco avoided the piercing blue eyes. "I hate you, and I'm glad that you are about to die, but a worthy opponent should not die like an animal on a stake."_

_Weasley managed a tired grin. "This your twisted sense of honor, Malfoy?"_

_"I suppose so. It's a good thing you are dying, so you can't spread the word that I have a sense of honor." Ignoring his own injuries, Draco folded himself into a sitting position. "And no one should die alone."_

_His breaths grew more labored. "We are enemies, Malfoy."_

_"We were a few minutes ago, Weasley. But there are no enemies in death." Draco fell silent as he acknowledged the flicker of gratitude in the blue eyes._

_When Weasley stopped breathing. Draco stayed a moment longer before rising painfully. But as he turned away, his eyes caught the flicker of gold from Weasley. Pulling out the bracelet, he read the inscription. _To Hermione from Ron, whose love for her is as constant as the stars._ He was about to put the bracelet back, but the gleam seemed to call to him._

_He placed the bracelet in his pocket, and without looking back, he left the room._

Winner takes all.

TBC….

* * *

Author Note: 

- (1) Hagrid to Harry in _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's (Sorcerer's) Stone_.


	4. Changing of the Guard

**Chapter: **(04) – Changing of the Guard  
**Chapter Summary:** A change of government as Hermione gets reacquainted.  
**Author notes: **Sorry this chapter took so long to write, but I promise the next one is sooner in coming!

------

_Lucius Malfoy was known as 'Lord Malfoy' for the twenty-five years he served Voldemort. It was during the years in which Voldemort's rule destabilized that he began to build the power base that would allow him to rule in the Dark Lord's stead. To the day of the writing of this document, the exact cause and manner of Voldemort's death remains uncertain, but it is largely accepted that Malfoy felt Voldemort could no longer rule, and killed him as a result._

_For the country, this turned out to be a boon. Lucius was as fierce and unyielding as Voldemort had ever been, but during his short reign, he abolished the ill treatment of Muggleborns that Voldemort had considered necessary, lowered taxes, and crushed all rebel efforts so thoroughly that once a region had been taken care of, it would not need intervention again. He was considered to be a practical ruler for his efforts to treat British citizens fairly, but sedition or disagreement with his methods was still punishable by execution._

_He was revered by many even after his death._

_--- The New History of Britain, Book I_

_------_

Inside the Ministry of Magic's headquarters, Charlie watched the growing crowd with a small amount of trepidation. "There are so many of them," he said to the man behind him.

"Indeed." Lucius allowed a small smile to cross his face as he watched the amazement flicker on Charlie's face.

"Many of them are Muggleborn." Charlie finally turned to Lucius, curiosity evident in his open face. "I'm surprised they came to give you support."

Lucius shrugged elegantly. "They have come not to show me support but to judge me. To see if I can turn their fortunes for the better."

"Can you?"

Lucius shrugged once more. "Does it really matter? Their lives are in my hands."

Charlie turned away again. "I suppose I should have expected that," bitterness shading his voice.

A warm hand clasped his shoulders. "Your father and I agreed on one thing, Charlie. That a strong ruler does not compromise."

He looked down dejectedly, finding it hard to believe that his father had agreed with Malfoy on _anything_. Absently he fingered the soft wool of his robes – new, of course, for as an officer in the Ministry, he was required to dress the part. A few weeks ago, Lucius had combed through his entire wardrobe and declared everything unfit for wear. But Charlie had drawn the line at his dragon-hide boots, which Lucius had grudgingly allowed him to keep, if only because dragon-hide was an expensive commodity.

"Sir, if I may ask, why am I here?"

Lucius's eyebrows rose. "'Tis the day of my inauguration. As my assistant, where else would you be?" He dropped his hands and moved back to his desk.

"That's not what I asked." He stared into the cold eyes of the man who had ordered the deaths of his family but had allowed Charlie to live out of cold-blooded necessity, the man who had once said that all blood was worth spilling if there were a purpose.

"As I have already explained to you, it is of great importance that we preserve your bloodline. The Weasleys are a line as old as my own, and I cannot in good conscience allow that line to die."

A humorless laugh emerged from Charlie's chest. "But your good conscience allowed you to kill most of them."

A glimmer of amusement in the silver eyes. "Needs must, Charlie. Your father would have opposed this new government to his last breath, and I have better things to do than to deal with an opponent. Your mother was cut from similar lines, as were your brothers. As were you." He came closer, his limbs moving silkily. "But you were worth saving. "You worked with volatile animals – it shows much patience and cleverness on your part. It is the same with people." Lucius's voice hardened. You are smart enough to realize this battle is over. We are the policy makers."

"Politics was my father's domain, and it was Percy's."

Lucius waved that comment away. "They were ineffectual." His voice turned coaxing. "Come now, Charlie. Surely it will not be so bad – I promise, no reports on cauldron bottoms for you!"

"But you want me here because you want people to see that you won – that the son of your greatest opponent now serves you. That's why you want me to work here!"

Approval gleamed in Lucius's eyes. "Perhaps," he allowed. "But that was an astute observation you made, young Weasley, and that's why I need you here." He sighed. "It is difficult to make power lovable, Charlie. No matter who is in charge, there will always be someone who thinks he can do better. And there will always be people who mistrust him. There will come a time when I too must yield my place…but I would rather it be later than sooner."

"You have a lot of enemies, Lucius," said Charlie quietly. _And I'm one of them_.

The new Minister shrugged. "Yes, but enemies can only strengthen my position. Allies, on the other hand, would weaken it. Do you understand why?"

Charlie considered the question for a moment. "Because you are not beholden to your enemies, but you are to your allies."

Lucius gave him a pleased smile. "Yes."

"But what about Draco? Shouldn't he be the one standing next to you today?"

"He has other things to occupy his attention."

Charlie looked at the crowd again. "But people are expecting it. He's your son."

Lucius waved that away. "Blood is thicker than water," he quoted, "but politics is even thicker than blood."

"So I'm to be a pawn then?" asked Charlie in defeat, as he sensed all his avenues of escape were closed.

"Yes," said Lucius. "My pawn, to be exact." He approached Charlie again. "But you have played chess before, have you not?" At Charlie's nod, Lucius continued. "So you see what I am offering you. You are a pawn now, but all pawns have the chance to become greater than they are."

"Then how can you trust me?" blurted Charlie.

Lucius chuckled. "Who says that I do?" He became business-like again. "It looks like the ceremony is about to start." Lucius straightened his robes and pulled on his gloves. "Well?"

"I'm on my way, sir," said Charlie in defeat. He followed the elder Malfoy outside, where several guards were waiting to escort him to the speaker's dais. As Lucius took his spot behind the podium, Charlie looked around once again. The streets outside the Ministry were crowded with people, and many more stood on rooftops, and some were even on broomsticks.

"My fellow citizens," boomed Lucius, his voice amplified with the sonorous charm, "The war has been fought…"

_The victor declaring the fate and way of life for millions of people…_

"But the real battle is only beginning…this is our test…"

_A test that we may fail…_

"Now is the time for reconstruction…"

_Not only of buildings but of lives…_

"This is a time when all who live who under the ideals of the Founding Four must brace themselves and move forward…"

_Into the gathering storm of stagnation and sterility…_

"The future awaits us, in moments of transition…"

_Deprived of all we had relied upon for guidance…_

"We must face…"

_A wounded nation…_

"Together…"

_Alone_.

The applause was thunderous, but Lucius was skilled in oratory, so Charlie had expected no less. And afterwards, when the ceremony was over, Lucius stood and accepted congratulations from many of his supporters, as well as questions from his more cautious ones. Even Muggleborns crowded around the former Death Eater, many eager to be lulled into reassurance by their new Minister's promises. Lucius was a master politician, reflected Charlie. He somehow managed to look sincere and completely open while hiding as much as possible.

"He learned that trick from my father," said a voice to his side.

It was Narcissa Malfoy. "Mrs. Malfoy," murmured Charlie politely as he kissed her proffered hand.

She nodded in approval. "Narcissa, if you please." She accepted his arm as they walked toward where Lucius was standing with his cabinet members. "My father was the French Minister of Magic, and Lucius was his aide. That's how I met him." She flashed him a smile. "I have yet to decide if my life has changed for better or worse."

Not sure of how to respond, Charlie only nodded. "Lucius told me you were to arrive from France today."

"I could hardly miss his inauguration." She smiled at a few well-wishers. "He tells me that you are proving to be a capable student."

"To be honest, I'm not sure what exactly I'm a student of."

Another smile. "Do not let yourself be confused by Lucius's games, Charlie."

_Games_. "I have a few tricks of my own, Narcissa."

Narcissa paused in her step and looked at him closely. "Be sure that you do," she warned softly. Her countenance softening ever so slightly, she squeezed his hands. "I'm sorry for the loss of your family, but it was necessary. Do you understand?" There was no remorse in her eyes, no pity, but just a shade of concern.

"Yes, I do," he said. And he did understand, except his heart clenched every time he thought of them.

"Come," she said briskly. "Allow me to introduce you to the families of Lucius's cabinet." She led him through the crowd, and he followed, his heart shutting down because of cold necessity.

_Arthur did not seem to notice that Charlie was behind him, watching him as he knelt down and gathered Fred's lifeless body in his arms. All his children were dead. Molly was dead. Percy, George, and Ron had been killed yesterday, and today, Fred, Ginny, Bill, and Molly were also dead. Charlie was alive, but he would probably be killed soon as well._

_Arthur did not seem to care that his clothing was soaked in blood, that his skin was stained red from his own blood._

_Between father and son. Between him and all his children._

_Blood ties…Who had known then, as he had watched the mediwitches over the years in the birthing room wipe the blood from his children's faces? Who had known?_

_That he himself would have to wipe the blood away from these same faces. His face. His wife's face._

_That he would never again be the good father, that he would never be the good father-in-law, the good grandfather._

_That his children were never meant to be like their father. To be much better than their father. To be alive like their father. _

_------_

The celebratory ball was held at Malfoy Manor, its lavish ballrooms and parlors providing enough space for five hundred guests – close friends and supports of the new Minister and his family. Lucius had spared no expense, as wine flowed without end, and delicate foods and sweets found their way to everyone's plates. Many of the guests were foreign, some hailing from as far away as Japan, Africa, and India.

Hermione fingered her new gown distractedly. Like Charlie, she had been forced to acquire a new wardrobe. Lucius Malfoy would have no pauper dwelling under his roof, so his solution had simply been to drop a sack full of galleons on her desk, accompanied by a stern order to clothe herself properly. She had done just that, indulging in luxuries she never would have even dreamed of in her past life. But as Snape had said, there was no point in punishing herself by denying her new wealth.

Which was why she was now swathed in a gauzy gown of hunter green, with silver slippers and a matching silver belt. She had even spent several hours performing complex charms on her hair, which was now coiffed elegantly around her head. Hermione would even venture to say that she looked pretty today, although in no way could she compete with many of the other beautiful women here.

Yet even if she had been the most beautiful woman in the room, no one would have spoken to her anyway. It seemed that even with the expensive clothes and jewelry, the people around her knew her for watch she was: a Muggleborn witch who had no more business being at the party than Dumbledore would have been. People would whisper "Mudblood" when they thought she was not listening – or when they thought she was, and many would sweep the hems of their dresses and robes aside when she walked past, as if afraid that her touch might soil them.

But Hermione was too proud to retreat to the safety of her room. She stayed in the crowded ballroom, perhaps proving to everyone else that she was not afraid, that Mudblood or not, she was here and they would have deal with it.

Unfortunately, that meant that Hermione had very few conversation partners that night. Snape had spoken to her briefly, but he had been swept away by some of his colleagues, Charlie had danced with her a few times, but he had been overwhelmed by the attention other women gave him. It had struck her as unfair that Charlie, the son of a poor wizard who had supported Dumbledore, was now accepted into the folds of upper class wizarding society, as if money and the support of Lucius Malfoy were enough to wash away the taint of his humble origins. But nothing could wash away Hermione's.

Not that it mattered, of course.

Surprisingly, it had been Blaise Zabini who had come to her rescue. Charming, handsome, and clever Blaise, who had been Head Boy, the only Slytherin she had ever respected. Blaise, unlike Draco, had been courteous and polite, and had never allowed the tensions in society dictate his professional relationship with Hermione. Being Head Girl had been a wonderful experience, something she owed to Blaise.

And tonight, he had once again forsaken the conventions of society by asking her to dance several times and engaging her in conversation. Around them, people whispered and glared, as if it were her fault that one of society's darling boys deigned to speak to a mere _Mudblood_. Whether Blaise was speaking to her because he wanted to or because he felt sorry for her, Hermione did not know, nor did she ask. Blaise had offered to anchor her in this sea of hatred, and after all, when someone is hanging off the edge of a cliff, she does not ask whose hand she is reaching for, nor why it is being offered.

Right now he was regaling her with stories of his recent trip to India. "Of course, the weather is ghastly, but that's India in its monsoon season."

"It's amazing, isn't it? That no matter how much we can control with magic, nature is out of our reach," commented Hermione idly.

He grinned charmingly, causing Hermione to admire him once again. Black hair that was slightly long, golden skin, and whiskey-colored eyes had caused more than one heart to flutter. "For now." He toasted her. "I'm sure you'll invent weather-controlling spells and potions."

"We'll see, won't we?" she laughed. "After all, my education ought to be good for something."

A cold voice interrupted them. "The only thing Mudbloods are good for is hunting."

They both turned to see Draco Malfoy standing a few feet away, with a pretty Indian girl on his arm.

Spots of color diffused across Blaise's cheeks, but Hermione, too used to the insult, placed a restraining hand on his arm. "It's alright, Blaise. That's how Malfoy deals with his inferiority complex."

This elicited a chuckle out of both Blaise and the girl, but Malfoy glared at her. Turning to Blaise, he said, "My father is asking for you."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said apologetically. "If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course," she assured him.

The other girl turned to Malfoy. "Draco, would you mind bringing me a glass of wine?" Hermione started at the sound of her voice. Taking a closer look, she realized it was Parvati Patil, except this Parvati now had far shorter hair. Malfoy gave Hermione a sour look before skulking off towards the refreshment table.

Parvati gave Hermione an uncertain look. "Hermione…you look beautiful tonight," she said sincerely.

"Thank you. But I don't hold a candle to you! You look amazing." And she did. Parvati, who had been gifted with long legs and an amazing figure, lovely brown skin, and shiny black hair, was now resplendent in a shimmery set of gold robes. "But your hair! You swore you'd never cut it."

"I know," said Parvati sadly as she fingered the short strands. "But my fiancé likes it, and it doesn't look too terrible."

Hermione smiled. "Fiancé?"

"Would you mind if we stepped outside?" asked Parvati, nervously glancing around them. "I'm feeling hot."

"Of course." Hermione followed her old classmate onto one of the balconies overlooking the gardens.

Once outside, Parvati sighed in relief. "I just had to get away. All those people…" Hermione nodded sympathetically but otherwise kept silent. "I'm glad you're alive, Hermione," she said suddenly. "I was afraid they killed you…like they killed Harry and Ron."

"They almost did, but Lucius Malfoy has other plans for me." Hermione looked at Parvati, her gaze hard. "How did you survive?"

"My family is an old one, Hermione." Parvati glanced away. "They didn't spare Lavender, Neville, or Seamus. I haven't heard anything about Dean. He's probably dead too."

Hermione clenched her hands in frustration. "They were very thorough, weren't they?"

Parvati placed her hands on the rail. "Yes, they were."

"But you're still here," said Hermione.

Parvati looked away again. "It was not easy, do you know? I thought that I was ready to die for The Cause, ready to lay down my life like the rest of you. But the urge to survive…it surprises you." She gazed out at the gardens. "And I found that I just couldn't, that I was not ready."

"You don't need to explain."

"But I need to say it." Parvati placed a hand on her stomach. "I made a choice. I never publicly grieved for my friends, and I have become engaged to one of Draco's cousins. Nothing less will prove the loyalty of a former Gryffindor – and once friend of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

Realization dawned upon Hermione. "And that's why you wanted to come out here. So no one would see us talk."

Parvati nodded regretfully. "Yes. I cannot be seen associating with a Muggleborn. Even when she is my friend and old dorm-mate."

"I understand, Parvati." Hermione clasped Parvati's hand. "You're trying to survive. Just like I am."

She sighed in relief. "I'm still your friend, Hermione. And maybe one day…"

Hermione smiled. "One day," she agreed. Parvati quickly hugged Hermione and left the balcony, most likely returning to the arms of her fiancé. But Hermione remained on the balcony a while longer in contemplation. Parvati was right. Loyalty was all well and good, but when it came to the crux of the matter, all that mattered was survival. It was survival that had caused both her and Charlie to accept Malfoy's offer. It was survival that caused Parvati to renounce her former way of life. And it was survival for Snape and Malfoy to kill their master.

Survival, survival, survival. It was not a very noble sentiment. The old Hermione Granger would rather have died than endure the shame of _surviving_. But the one that was now standing on Lucius Malfoy's balcony, wearing a dress that cost as much as all her old robes combined, accepted it.

_At least I'm still alive._

Draco observed the still figure on the balcony as he debated on intruding. Parvati had long since disappeared, but Draco still had two glasses of wine, and he refused to suffer the indignity of walking back out with the glasses still full. "Did Cousin Parvati leave you?"

"It's 'Cousin' Parvati now, is it?" she asked without turning around.

He shrugged although he knew she could not see it. "Parvati is marrying the son of my father's cousin. She is family now." He went to stand next to her. "Here," he said as he handed her one of the glasses.

"For me?" Her eyebrow shot up.

"Well, it was for Parvati, but she isn't here," said Draco cuttingly.

Granger raised the glass. "Then I suppose I'll make a toast." She looked up for a few brief moments before saying, "To survival."

His glass clinked with hers. "An interesting toast."

Her eyes locked with his. "An important one," she clarified.

Silence fell, but neither of them felt inclined to say anything. Finally, "You look quite passable today, Granger." He smirked again. "It must be hard being so ugly."

"I manage. But all the galleons in the world can't hide your ugly personality."

He laughed at that. "Touché, Granger." He oddly felt charitable to her tonight. "Have you been down to the gardens yet? They are by far the best feature of the Manor."

"No, not yet." She finished her wine, the alcohol giving both of them a sense of exhilaration.

"It's because you spend all your time locked in your room." He placed his glass on the flat edge of the rail. "Come on," he beckoned. "We can climb down the trellis."

"You can climb down the trellis. I can't," she said, pointing to her dress.

He sighed. "I'll climb down, and then I'll levitate you down here with my wand."

"The last time you had your wand pointed at me, I was hexed," she pointed out acidly.

Draco held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "If I hex you tonight, I'll embarrass my father. And since this is the night of his inauguration…well, I would rather not risk it."

"The good thing about you, Malfoy, is that I can trust your selfishness."

He smirked again. "I suppose that's a yes." He quickly climbed over the balcony rail and climbed down the trellis. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," came the voice from above.

Aiming a levitating spell at Granger, he brought her down as softly as he could. "See?"

"I wish it were your father's inauguration every night."

Draco snorted. "And deprive myself of the pleasure of annoying you? Never." They slowly wandered down one of the paths toward the fountain. A few other people were also walking about, perhaps out for fresh air – or furtive conversations. "Did Snape tell you when you would be meeting the Dark Lord?"

She looked startled for a few moments before regaining her equilibrium. "No, he hasn't mentioned it. Why?"

"I was just wondering. He's going to call for you, you know."

"I know." Granger paused next to the fountain. "Among Muggles, if you drop money into a fountain, you can make a wish, and it will come true."

He scoffed. "It sounds like a businessman came up with that myth." Unable to restrain his curiosity, he asked, "What would you wish for?"

"Justice," replied Granger promptly. "I want justice."

"Justice?" Draco shook his head. "This world is filled with inequity. How can you ask for justice?"

Granger laid a hand on the cool stone of the fountain. "Then I suppose it's a good thing that a wishing well is only a myth." She ran her hand over the engraved inscription and bent forward to read it. "This is in Latin," she said as she traced over the word _Proximitas_. "What does it mean?"

Draco eyed the fountain. "The proximity of a desirable thing leads to overindulgence. On that path lies danger." Granger looked surprised, so he explained further. "My grandfather had that engraved on the fountain to remind us how easy it is to become lost in beauty and pleasure."

"On the path lies danger," she repeated.

Perhaps mentioning the Dark Lord had not been a good idea. "I think that we should head back in." He almost offered her his arm until he remembered that Granger was a Mudblood.

She must have noticed because she turned to regard him tiredly. "Some things never change, do they, Malfoy?" From the tone of her voice, he knew she was asking not just about his manners.

He gazed at the stone fountain, the cold water trickling over it peacefully. "No," he said, meeting her eyes. "Some things will never change." The finality in his voice caused her to nod in agreement.

"You're right. Some things will never change." She looked up again, as if the answers she sought were in the sky. "But some things do." And with that, she vanished back into the house.

_Some things do_, echoed her voice in his head.

He pulled out a knut from his pocket and dropped it into the fountain. "For your sake, Granger, I hope you're right."

------

The next few weeks found Hermione busy with work. Snape had given her several musty tomes to peruse for information. He was currently brewing an invisibility potion, but due to the scarcity of certain materials, he had asked Hermione to research acceptable substitutes.

Snape's study almost mirrored the one he had at Hogwarts – filled with books, scrolls, and vials of unknown substances. She had decided that there would be no harm in sitting on his desk chair – after all, he did say for her to read his notes – so she had sat down with a sigh.

Shaking her head, she began to peruse Snape's notes. _So that's why he made me do so much research on hippogriff droppings last week. It might be a possible replacement of sea serpent scales, which are harder to find_. She flipped through more of his notes, curious as to what her irascible mentor had planned.

But before she could begin translating Snape's illegible scrawl, a tapping at the window distracted her. It was a handsome gray owl that looked decidedly put out with the closed window. "Sorry," she murmured as she let the owl in. She was about to fetch Snape when she realized that the owl was holding out his leg for her. "Who would be sending me a message?" she asked curiously – especially since the people who had any reason to owl her were now dead. Snape, Malfoy, and Charlie had more direct means of communication, and Parvati had effectively promised not to acknowledge her existence.

She untied the scroll from the owl's leg and then watched him fly off. Returning to the desk, she untied the scroll with a small amount of trepidation. As long as it was not from Voldemort…

She nearly wept in relief when she saw that it was from Blaise.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I hope you will not think me too terribly forward in writing you, but after seeing you a few weeks ago, I find myself inclined to renew our acquaintance – and dare I hope it may even progress to friendship? _

_I'm in Siberia now as I settle some Ministry business for Lucius. It's dreadfully cold up here, even though I'm using the most advanced warming spells I can think of. It is no wonder the Russians drink vodka all the time. Right now the fire is fully ablaze (that is not a deliberate pun, I promise), and I am currently bundled in a sweater and a warm pair of wooly socks. _

_I hope the end of summer is passing smoothly – and warmly! – for you. I will be returning to Britain within a fortnight, and when I do, I hope you'll indulge an acquaintance with an evening of your company. _

_Best wishes,_

_Blaise_

Hermione felt a silly grin cross her face. The letter was charming and clever and so very Blaise. And-

"I had no idea that readings on hippogriff droppings could make anyone so happy. But you always were a strange child, Miss Granger." It was Snape, who stood in the doorway with a scowl.

"Professor, the owl just came and well I had to read it because I didn't know who it was from although I suppose I could have waited, which-"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "No need to explain. I take it that the letter was not a summons or anything of that sort."

She shook her head as another smile appeared on her face. "Just a letter from Blaise."

Despite himself, Snape looked intrigued. "I was not aware that you and Mr. Zabini corresponded regularly."

"This is the first time…" Hermione composed herself and folded the letter into her pocket. "I did not mean to be distracted, sir," she said more formally.

Snape looked at her silently before beckoning her. "There is something I would like to show you." She rose from his comfortable office chair and followed him out the door. "Incidentally, if I may ask, what does Mr. Zabini's letter contain that causes you such joy?"

"It's not what he wrote, but the fact that he wrote it," she admitted as she distantly wondered why it was so easy to tell Snape. "All of my friends are dead except Charlie, and well, it's nice to know that I might be able to make a new one."

"An understandable sentiment," he said as he led to his laboratory. Although Hermione would never admit it, she loved the open mansion of Belvedere. Perhaps due to Snape's Italian ancestry, Belvedere was built more like a villa than a castle or manor. Last week, she had been delighted to discover that there was an atrium – with a pool and an open rooftop.

It was hard for her to imagine that Snape had been raised in such a lovely home – but then again, Draco had been born in beautiful Malfoy Manor. It was a trend, she supposed, that the worst of people were born in the best of places.

But Snape wasn't a bad man. He was mean, and he was abrupt, but he was not _bad_. Lucius Malfoy was, but even with him, the lines were blurred. Lucius had shown surprising deeds of generosity and kindness. It was he who had brought back Minerva McGonagall's body from the ruins of Hogwarts and had given her a proper burial. As Hermione's mother used to say, it was hard to judge a man who was both cruel and compassionate.

Pungent odors assault her nostrils as she stepped inside Snape's laboratory. "The invisibility potion?" she asked, referring to a boiling cauldron filled with a murky brown liquid.

"Yes, but never mind that," said Snape. He led her to the far side of his workroom, where a smaller cauldron stood over the flame. "This is the anti-Veritaserum potion. I have prepared this batch for you."

"He's going to summon me soon, isn't me?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. Within the next few days."

"What if he realizes that I'm lying?"

"Then I suppose you had better make sure he does not," he said unsympathetically as he stirred the potion. "Some weapons you cannot hold in your hands. They can only be held in your mind," he said softy.

Hermione felt sick as a sense of foreboding filled her.

* * *

Some quick notes: 

- "The proximity of a desirable thing leads to overindulgence. On that path lies danger." – Frank Herbert.


	5. We All Wear Masks

**Chapter:** (05) – We All Wear Masks  
**Chapter** **Summary:** Hermione finally meets her new lord, Voldemort.  
**Author notes: **It's almost been a year since I've updated this story, but it wasn't because I forgot about it! Just a lot of stuff in Real Life going on. But the next chapter is half-written, and guess what? Chapter six is about seeing what Charlie has been up to! So stay tuned for some Weasley goodness (and not so goodness).

------

_Though most remembered for his brutal tactics and uncompromising philosophy, Voldemort was at heart a strategist who freely utilized the Slytherin tendencies towards guile and trickery. He practiced feints within feints and often manipulated those who swore they could never be manipulated. He became so practiced at deception that he deceived even his most loyal followers – and near the end of his life, himself as well._

--- _Annals of the Death Eaters, Volume II_

------

**_Lithuania _**

_How the mighty have fallen_.

Peter watched the moonrise with a rather unwelcome sense of melancholy. Behind him, the house was silent and dark, a testimony to the characters of its inhabitants. Soon it would be time for him to prepare dinner. The Lord was strict in such matters, and if anything were a second slower than it needed to be…it was best not to dwell on the Lord's wrath.

Peter ambled toward the kitchen, wondering once again why the promise of power had led him to be the lapdog of the Dark Lord. Was he not the most loyal of servants? After all, it was he who helped the Dark Lord resurrect himself, it was he who protected him during the day, when the Lord was at his weakest, and it was he who took the lowly tasks of seeing to his nourishment.

So why were Malfoy and Snape reaping the rewards? Why were they in their plush mansions but he in a rundown shack in the middle of Lithuania? He used to hope that it was because his master was saving the best rewards for his most faithful servant, but now he had been forced to concede otherwise. Peter frowned as he warmed the milk that the Lord would require. He knew that the Lord was weak from his recent battle with Dumbledore and Potter, and it was likely that he would never regain his full strength back – unless Snape finished those potions. But Snape was a loose canon, as unreliable as Malfoy was. Those two had always danced to their own tunes.

"Wormtail." The whisper was soft, yet it was still gravelly, and it hurt Peter's ears.

"My lord." Keeping his eyes downcast, he turned to face his master. "I have your meal ready."

His master nodded as he swept inside the room. "Excellent. Have you heard from Lucius yet?"

Peter nodded again as he handed the parchment over. "Lucius says that his inauguration has proceeded as planned, my lord."

"Good. Once that is over, he can finish cleansing the land, and then I can go back to England. And have Lucius send me that girl. Our meeting has long been delayed." Peter only murmured in agreement as he turned to leave. But just as he reached the door, his master's clammy hand latched onto his arm. Voldemort pulled Peter closer, his red eyes narrowed in examination.

Sometimes, Peter would act in ways that did not always reflect Voldemort's full desires. Naturally, the Dark Lord knew this, as he knew all the thoughts and intents of his closest minion. And though it was possible for Voldemort to put a stop to Peter's occasional discrepancies, he chose not too. Instead, Voldemort allowed and at times encouraged these thoughts, for these feelings made Peter an effective servant. He would act with complete obedience to his master's will, but he added a flair of individuality that acted as a safeguard against mistakes.

"I smell fear, Wormtail." He smiled maliciously. "That is well then, for if I can still strike fear into your heart, I can terrorize all the others." He released Peter, his slender hands disappearing into the folds of his robes. "Leave me."

The command did not have to be repeated. Peter fled, his heart thumping. Had Voldemort read his mind? Had the Dark Lord known what he was thinking? It was possible, he conceded to himself. Voldemort was known to bide his time before exposing treachery. But surely he had done nothing outwardly treacherous. He was resentful, yes, but who wouldn't be in his position? Being a maid was a far cry from what he truly wanted.

_Perhaps it's time I have a talk with my dear friend Lucius_.

Yes, the mighty have fallen.

But how the lowly will rise.

------

**_Brazil _**

"I'm here for my package," announced Severus impatiently. He was standing in a rickety ingredients shop in Rio de Janeiro, and tired and cranky from the journey, he wanted nothing more than to retrieve his package and floo back home.

The shop owner, a beady-eyed old man who had seen better days, seemed almost hesitant to speak. "Sir, I-"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "I trust that it arrived safely?" he asked calmly. But inside, the first threads of worry began to seize him. The ingredients he had ordered were contraband, and not even Lucius knew about them. That was why he had come halfway around the world to get them, and if they had not arrived...

The shop owner gulped audibly. "The package did arrive, sir, but it is no longer here. The Department of Magical Regulation came last night and took your shipment into their custody."

"WHAT?"

"I do not know how they were aware of it. I certainly told no one, and the ones who shipped it would not have said anything for fear of being fined."

Severus closed his eyes briefly. Those ingredients were important. Now where could he get more? It was obvious that he could not use this shop to obtain illegal ingredients any longer. "Did the Ministry officers identify the recipient?"

The shop owner shook his head. "No, they were unable to identify you. At least to my knowledge."

"At least my identity is safe." Severus buttoned his cloak. "If you so much as speak of word of this to anyone, you'll be very sorry." The menace in his voice was very clear.

The shop owner nodded his head eagerly. "Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Escobar."

"See that it remains that way." Without another world, Severus apparated back to his dingy hotel room. "Mr. Pablo Escobar" was the persona he had adopted for his more shady business transactions in Latin and South America, but now that the Brazilian Ministry was aware of him, the name was no longer safe. In fact, this room was no longer safe. Quickly packing the few possessions that were strewn across the room, he considered his options. The floo networks were not to be trusted, as the Ministry here was now actively looking for him. Severus was not fool enough to apparate to Britain, and riding a broomstick across the Atlantic...

Most definitely not.

Whom did he know in this country that owed him a favor?

Two hours later, Severus found himself in the river town of Manaus. It was a city filled with Muggles - indeed, the presence of wizarding folk here was next to none, except for Ria Valdez, that was. "Now listen to me, Severus. This boat will go down the Amazon, and it will dock in Cayenne, in the French Guiana. From there, you will take another boat to Venezuela. Once there, you can fly out on broomstick to the Caribbean, and then you can use the floo to go back home." Ria was a short Spanish woman who possessed a quick temper and an even quicker draw.

"Why can I not simply fly from here to Venezuela?"

She gave him an irritated look. "You come from a country with few people, Severus. In case you haven't noticed, South America is far denser, especially Brazil. You would undoubtedly be noticed if you fly, especially on a clear night such as this. Once you get to the Ocean, do whatever you want." She dug into her pocket. "Here are the papers to get you through Muggle immigration."

He looked at the identity card. "Ricardo de la Puerta?"

She nodded. "Pablo was a stupid name anyway." Ria clasped her hands together. "For once, leave your snobbery here. You must be careful on the boats. They are often screened for illegal immigrants."

"Ah yes, I have heard of those."

"So you know of what I speak." She paused for a moment, and then, "After this, I consider the debt I owed you fully paid, Severus."

He nodded. "You do not owe me anything anymore." A few years ago, Ria's brother Juan had been arrested by the British Ministry for the use of an Unforgivable near London. At the time, Ria had been the lover of Avery's youngest brother, and after weeks of pleading with the irascible Severus, she had finally convinced him to break him out of Ministry custody before they sent him to Azkaban. It had been a perilous rescue, all for a man whom Severus did not know, on behalf of the lover of a despised comrade.

Ria had been repaying this debt for several years, but she was right. Tonight was her final payment. "Perhaps one day we will meet again, Ms. Valdez." He bowed suddenly, the gentlemanly action out-of-place in the crowded dock.

"I certainly hope it is under better circumstances, Mr. Snape." She shook his hand firmly. "Remember what I said. Be as inconspicuous as possible. Thank whatever kind god there is that this is Brazil and not Hong Kong, or else you would stick out like a dragon among a herd of kneazles."

"If there is a god, he certainly has my thanks."

Her dark eyes crinkled. "Too jaded to believe in luck?"

"No jaded, but experienced," he corrected. He touched his hat. "Goodbye, Ria."

"Safe journey, Severus…in all walks of your life." She stepped back from the dock as Severus boarded the boat. He kept his eyes on her small frame until she became a pinprick in the horizon. It was unfortunate that he could not publicly remain friends with Ria, but he did not want her to receive the attention that would surely come with his friendship. The Dark Lord would be curious, and the Dark Lord's curiosity was something to be avoided at all costs.

He shifted his mind to his current predicament. Where could be find another ingredients shop? He had exhausted his Latin America and Caribbean resources. He knew that there were some apothecaries in the Pacific Islands and in India, but he hesitated in doing business there. It was difficult enough to travel to South America incognito, but Asia was a different matter. Besides, he could not pass as a member of the populace, even if he did manage to pick up fluency in another language.

Briefly he wondered how it would be if he pretended his name was Rajashi Singh. Polyjuice was fine if he had to fool normal wizards, but it was useless at passing through magical immigration. _I will just have to find another way. There must be a road I have not taken_. He wished he could consult with Lucius on this matter. The elder Malfoy was clever and would probably have a solution tucked up his very expensive sleeves. But Snape was not ready to confide in Lucius just yet. He needed more time to make sure. There was nothing worse than an impatient Lucius, and though he would not reveal the secret, he would hound Severus night and day.

No, he needed more time to prepare his potion. If it worked, then the Dementers, Voldemort's most dangerous servants and the ones that Snape and Lucius could not control, would be eliminated.

He needed an answer fast.

------

_Dear Blaise,_

_I hope your work is going well in Moscow. I was quite dismayed to hear that your time there has been extended another week for that business with their Ministry of Magical Exports. They have some of the best raw exports in the magical world, so I hope that both parties can come to a suitable agreement. I can understand their concerns – after all, in regards to the political upheaval in Britain, I can see why they would wish to reconsider their trade with us. No doubt they are currently evaluating Mr. Malfoy and wondering if he can benefit the Russians. Fudge did more damage to their economy by raising our import taxes, but Lucius is smarter and not filled with Fudge's bombastic pride._

_Besides, you are clever and most likely charming those stodgy old Russians. _

_In other news – Snape has gone into the country to visit a sick aunt…or so he tells me. I doubt Snape has an aunt, and if I were Snape's aunt, I certainly would not want such a nephew visiting me. But he has his secrets, and I have learned not to pry. If I do, he assigns me even more unpleasant tasks. Narcissa sends her greetings, by the way. She is quite fond of you, and she wishes you would visit more often. I think she hopes that you will be a positive influence on Malfoy Junior._

_I wanted to tell her that even a goblin would be a positive influence on that prat, but I stayed my tongue._

_Malfoy Junior is currently flying around the courtyard, no doubt pretending to chase hapless Muggles. Any minute now, and he will bang on the window and ask me if I would willingly indulge him in a game of "Chase the Muggle."_

_He just fell off his broom! _

_I tell you, I have the best view in the entire Manor._

_Until next time, Hermione._

Hermione, comfortably seated on one of the window seats in the Manor's library, basked in the afternoon sunlight that was most welcome on such a chilly day. Bundled in warm clothes, with a scroll and pen in hand, she felt quite relaxed. This had become a daily ritual of hers. She would return from Belvedere, shed her robes, order a warm cup of tea – quite reluctantly, for the Malfoys did not support her House Elf Liberation movement – and sit in the library to pen letters to Blaise. Ever since receiving his first letter, Hermione had maintained a steady stream of friendly communication with him.

Blowing over the parchment to speed the ink in drying, she looked outside the window once again. Apparently Malfoy was done flying because now he was standing on the ground scowling at something. The scowl was his trademark feature, in Hermione's opinion. The smirking he had done in Hogwarts had been left behind in the ruins of the school, and as his home now had a "resident Mudblood," he rarely smiled.

Lucius and Narcissa were much better in conveying hospitality. Mostly, they left her to her own devices, although at times, Lucius would seek her out and draw her into lengthy discussions on diverse topics ranging from the current status of non-tradable goods to whether magic should be used to prevent hazardous situations of Muggle origins – such as the nuclear standoff between Pakistan and India. After all, one did not attain the rank of Snape's Closest Friend without a certain degree of intellectualism.

Periodically, Narcissa would participate and often surprise Hermione with the depth of her perceptions. She had been one of the top students at Beauxbatons and later, the protégé of Herman von Stockelfurm – the world's foremost expert on magical poisons.

She must have been a prime candidate as a Death Eater and as Lucius's chosen bride.

Movement from outside caught her attention once again. Now Malfoy was walking back towards his home, his broom carefully tucked under his arm. She briefly wondered why he had not gone on to play quidditch – but she supposed that being a servant of the Dark Lord left little time for anything else.

"Miss Granger." Hermione looked away from the window to see Narcissa standing at the door with a tray in her hands. "You have already had your tea, I know, but it is a cold day, so I thought you might like another one." Without waiting for an answer, the blond-haired woman gingerly balanced the tray with one hand and shut the door with the other.

Hermione uncurled herself from the window and joined Narcissa at the table. Such acts of friendliness and concern were rare, and even when it occurred, Hermione knew from experience that there was a deeper motive in Narcissa's visit today. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. I would like another cup very much."

"My sister sent these tea cookies from home." She pushed the plate towards Hermione. "Try some."

Slowly reaching out for a cookie, she wondered once again at Narcissa's friendliness – and remembered that Narcissa was a poisons mistress. "They smell like lemons," remarked Hermione as she dipped the cookie into her tea.

Narcissa nodded dreamily. "My grandmother's recipe. I love lemon cookies very much." She reached for a cookie of her own, allaying Hermione's fear of poison. "Severus tells me that you are quite a help to him."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Professor Snape surely exaggerates, Ma'am. He spends a good portion of the day listing everything I do wrong."

"That is his odd way of showing his approval. If he did not like your work, he would have tossed you out on your ear – or given you something more mundane to do, such as scrubbing the bottoms of his cauldrons." Finished with her cookie, Narcissa took another. "You have been working very hard, Miss Granger, and I assure you, your efforts are very much appreciated."

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," said Hermione carefully. She was unsure of Narcissa's motives, and she hesitated in saying too much.

Narcissa flicked a crumb away from the collar of her dress. "Do not thank me just yet," her tone filled with regret. "Lucius contacted me less than an hour past." Her light eyes were very grave. "It is time, Miss Granger."

------

It was Snape who had been chosen for the unpleasant task of taking Hermione to her new lord. He arrived the night that Narcissa had informed Hermione she would have to meet Voldemort. With him, he had brought black robes and a silver mask, which he had thrust at Hermione with an order to get dressed. In a distant part of Hermione's mind, she figured that Snape's sick aunt was not doing well, judging from his harsh mood.

The robes were of fine quality, but she had expected no less. Death Eaters lived lavishly – it only made sense that they killed lavishly as well. The silver mask covered most of her face, except it left her mouth and chin revealed. She had eyed her semi-covered face in the mirror with trepidation. Voldemort would be able to see her mouth tighten, her chin tremble, her lips quiver – her emotions must be restrained, she realized. _I am no Snape – how can I hide so much hate?_

"Miss Granger." It was Snape on the other side of her door. "Are you done preening? We cannot keep the Dark Lord waiting. He is not lenient as your fool of a headmaster was."

She opened to door and allowed Snape to inspect her. Lifting a hand to her uncovered mouth, "I don't know," she admitted helplessly.

He nodded as he led her towards the chamber with main floo entrance. "The Dark Lord has learned that eyes can hide many things. But the mouth – ah, there is no more of an expressive feature." He put his own mask on. "I have learned not to hide the movements of my mouth – at least not the emotions I want him to see. Voldemort wants to see your anger, your hate, and any other dark emotion you have. If you came to him as a passive and devout servant, he would know something was afoot." He pulled a vial from his robes. "Here, drink this."

She held it up to the light. The liquid was an icy blue, clear and quite pretty. Drinking it, she discovered that it did not _taste_ pretty. "Has this anti-veritaserum potion been tested?" she asked.

"Yes – in laboratory situations. But it has not been tested in the face of such danger, so I can only hope it works as well as I theorized." He stepped into the fireplace. "We are going to one of our safe houses in Wales. From there, we will use a portkey." He threw down the powder. "Dimault House!"

Hermione followed, glad that they were not going to Voldemort just yet. She needed to compose her thoughts and strengthen her mind against the oncoming assault.

Dimault House was a barren place, devoid of most furniture and paintings. It contained, however, several beds and blankets, as well as a large supply of medicinal herbs and potions. "Why do we need to come here first? Couldn't we have used the portkey at Malfoy Manor?"

They were currently in the dining room, where Snape was fixing himself another potion. "It is a rule that we never take a direct route to our Lord. It is a tactic that has been useful against aurors."

"Oh." Her stomach was clenching in nervousness. "What are you making?"

Snape sighed in irritation. "Have you regressed back to you your years as my former annoying student?" He pushed the cup towards her. "This will numb your muscles. Voldemort will most likely use the Cruciatus Curse – it's his favorite – so this will help with the pain. I used to take it before I went to Death Eater meetings." He gestured impatiently. "Drink up, girl! We haven't much time. I did not dare give this to you before because traveling through the floo networks with a muscle relaxant is extremely dangerous."

"But I thought I was supposed to show Voldemort my pain." Merlin, did everything Snape make have to taste so vile?

"I said it would help with the pain. Believe me, because this is the first time you will be subjected to Cruciatus, your body will be in such pain that you will lose all your senses. As time goes on, the body becomes more used to it, but still, the pain is overwhelming." He looked at the clock. "Veritaserum and Cruciatus are effective combinations. If the anti-Veritaserum potion I have prepared is not sufficient, then the pain will overwhelm you. Thus, I am giving you the ability to control your mind during Cruciatus. But take care to show pain, exaggerate if you must. Voldemort must suspect nothing." He pulled her from her seat. "We must go."

The portkey took them to a small, rundown cottage in Lithuania. Already weak from the muscle relaxant, the dizzying travel by portkey did not help any. "Brace yourself," whispered Snape roughly as he pulled her to the door.

Hermione was not surprised when Peter Pettigrew opened it. "Ah, my dear friend Severus," Pettigrew smiled thinly. "Master is quite angry. He doesn't like visitors who are late." His gaze shifted to the smaller form next to the Potions Master. "And this must be the newest recruit."

Snape pushed passed him. "Stop wasting our time, Pettigrew. Where is our Lord?"

"Follow me." Pettigrew shut the door behind them and then led them down a dark hallway to what must have been a parlor. Only a single candle was lit on the mantle of the fireplace, thus shrouding most of the room in shadows. "I will leave you here," announced Pettigrew unnecessarily.

"Thank you, Peter." _The voice is so cold_, thought Hermione as she resisted wrapping her arms around herself. She looked in the direction of the voice and saw a tall figure cloaked in black. Behind him was a long line of similarly cloaked figures with silver masks, all kneeling in deference.

Snape dragged her forward and then bent to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes. "We are sorry for the delay, Master. I have no excuse for my behavior. I await your punishment."

Hermione's mouth tightened in disgust – and thought she saw a flash of reptilian eyes glancing at her reaction. "I have not the time to deal with your failures, Severus. Get up and stand with the others."

"Very well, Master." He rose and pushed Hermione forward. "Greet your Master, you impudent girl."

She glanced at Snape in surprise. He had not mentioned anything about this because if he had, she would have refused this meeting. Bad enough that she had to be in the same room as Dumbledore's murderer, but to kiss his robes? Hermione had her pride, after all.

"I will deal with her impudence, Severus."

It was clearly a dismissal. "Yes, my lord." He bent down and kissed Voldemort's robes once more before joining the others in the back. Snape did not even look at Hermione as he passed her.

"Come closer, child." Hermione gazed at the hooded figure in trepidation. "You are right to be afraid. But come closer." This time, the command was very evident in his voice. She picked up a scent from him, something she could not identify, but it smelled like old death, rotten and perhaps touched with a bit of mold.

She did, and she waited with a guarded patience as he looked her over critically. "Take off your mask, child. I would see your face." Again she complied, her hands shaking. "Such obedience must be rewarded," purred Voldemort. He reached up with scaly hands and removed his hood.

Harry had told her once what Voldemort looked like after his transformation. But nothing, nothing had prepared her for this. His skin was in clumps, partially falling off, his skull almost oblong, his eye slits in a flat face. She realized that Snape had deliberately allowed her to be taken unawares, that her loss of composure now would allay Voldemort's fear of trickery.

_Feints within feints within feints._

"Do you think me ugly, Miss Granger?" When she did not reply, he continued in an easy voice. "I can still look into a mirror. I know what I look like. But think of this face as another mask. Just like you do not look like your mask, neither do I look like mine. But a mask must be worn during certain times." He lifted a scaly hand towards the single table. "Drink that."

"What if I don't?" she asked, her voice quivering with real fear.

Voldemort shrugged. "The choice is entirely up to you, of course. But there are consequences of refusing." He flashed a rather reptilian smile. "Either way, Miss Granger, I will get what I want."

This was the moment of truth. If Snape's potion were not effective, everything would be lost. And though she could not see it, she felt Snape's and Malfoy's eyes upon her. Hesitantly, she took up the cup and drank the potion. A numbing pain emerged from the back of her skull, and as the seconds ticked by, it only grew in intensity. She felt like her brain was being torn open, with all her secrets bared for Voldemort's perusal.

Yet she also found that there were "pockets" inside her mind. She found she could retreat from the pain with her most important secrets. Most importantly, these pockets allowed her to remain in control of her answers. However, she was careful to allow her eyes to glaze over, as if the potion really had taken effect.

"What is your name?"

At least he started out easy. "Hermione Margaret Granger."

The Dark Lord nodded. "A very quaint name. And where do you reside?"

"Malfoy Manor."

He nodded once again. "Now, tell me, Miss Granger, are you in the service of Albus Dumbledore's few remaining associates?"

Hermione was taken aback by the question. "No." Snape and Malfoy were definitely not associated with Dumbledore.

"Do you hate me?"

"Yes!" As if they were wrenched from her, she bit down on her lip.

Voldemort chuckled and looked over her carefully, his red eyes taking note of her tears, cut lip, and trembling chin. "Where are Dumbledore's resistance cells?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

The questions continued for a long while, each one easier to answer simply because Hermione did not have any information. Voldemort was operating under the assumption that she was working for Dumbledore when in fact she was working for his two most trusted servants. It was a relief because she was not betraying anyone just yet.

And when the questions were done, she braced herself for Cruciatus…

Thus she was taken by surprise when Voldemort reached out and stroked the soft skin of her neck. "Such unmarred beauty. I had originally planned to use Cruciatus to verify my answers, but I cannot find it in me to ruin such beauty as mine once was." Voldemort dropped his hand. "There is another way." Without another word, he grasped her head with his scaly hands, his fingers biting into her cheeks and scalp.

_Snape hadn't said anything about this!_ Out of the corner of her eyes, she could barely make out Snape's tensed form. Apparently he had not been expecting this either.

A strange shiver crept over Hermione as the surrounding world grew dim. A chill pressed its way up her spine, and for a moment, her vision darkened to the point that she could no longer see the muted candlelight around her. There was a presence invading her mind, a shadow of fear that was getting stronger every moment.

_Voldemort is in my mind! _She squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to separate herself from the encroaching darkness. She knew she was not strong or experienced enough to flush Voldemort from her mind, nor was she sure if she should do so. If she were effective in keeping him out, Voldemort would suspect that she had something to hide – and she did. But if she did not resist enough, he would grow suspicious.

_Some weapons you cannot hold in your hands. They can only be held in your mind,_ echoed Snape's voice in her raped mind. Thankfully, the pockets of retreat were still left open, and she fled to them now, leaving enough of herself exposed so that Voldemort would not sense her hiding from him.

As her connection to the surrounding world was cut off, she felt his grip upon her mind increase ten-fold, and she became even more aware of his shadow as well as his hold over her thoughts. She could not hold him at bay forever, even with other memories as barriers.

But just as suddenly, he released her head, and she fell in a heap on the floor. "I have seen enough. This girl spoke the truth." He turned towards his Death Eaters. "I will summon her later. For now, take her back and make use of her."

Dimly, Hermione was aware of strong arms lifting her. "Stay still, Granger." It was Draco Malfoy. Too tired to reply, she tucked her head into the crook of his neck, not caring that he was probably shivering in repulsion. Her brain felt torn open with all its arteries ripped to shreds, and she wondered why she was not bleeding.

"We need to take her back home quickly." This was Snape…and was that concern in his voice?

"Portkey is too risky," argued Malfoy. "She is in a state of mental collapse."

Warm hands stroked her hair. "We cannot apparate. No, portkey is the only way. I will do what I can for her before we leave, but much of it is up to her." She felt Draco gingerly place her on scented grass. "Miss Granger, hear my voice and listen. Open your eyes."

She only scrunched up her eyes more tightly. What if all the blood from her brain poured out?

"Open your eyes." Why wouldn't he leave her alone? "Miss Granger, I will perform Cruciatus on you myself if you do not do as I say."

With a sigh, she cracked one eyelid open. She made out the haze that was Snape, and beyond him, Malfoy. "Good," said Snape with satisfaction. "I was worried you would not have eyes left." He pulled out his wand and muttered a few spells. "Regretfully, we must use portkey. We cannot stay here any longer, and you need certain potions I have only in my lab." Snape gestured to Malfoy, who lifted her once again. "I want you to hold on to Draco. Understood?"

Her jaws refused to move, so she only nodded. Catching Snape's eyes, she looked at the house. Understanding her unspoken query, he said briskly, "Lucius has to remain behind. The Lord wants details on the new government. Thankfully, our presence is not required." He held out a book. "Draco?"

Malfoy shifted so that he was able to grasp the book. Snape placed one of Hermione's hands on the book as well, and then pulling out his own wand, he activated the portkey.

It was the most horrible experience of her life. Once, when she had been very young, her parents had taken her to an amusement park, and she had insisted on going on the rides that spun the most. Afterwards, she hadn't been able to stand upright for hours because she was so dizzy. This was how she felt now, except it was much worse.

As soon as they arrived in the Manor, she began to gag. Draco knelt, and Snape, who managed to conjure an empty receptacle, held her head as she retched for several minutes. Even after the contents of her stomach were gone, she heaved for a while longer.

"You!" snapped Snape at a house elf. "Prepare Miss Granger's room and summon Mrs. Malfoy." The elf scurried off to do his bidding, and through the haze of pain, Hermione noticed Snape head towards the fireplace. "Draco, take Miss Granger to her room. I must retrieve some potions from my home."

"Yes, sir." Again Draco lifted her and quickly carried her up the stairs. "Mother!" he cried when his eyes fell upon Narcissa's approaching form.

Narcissa worriedly examined the bundle in her son's arms. "What happened?"

Hermione felt Draco's answer. "Voldemort did something. I don't know." He carefully placed her on the bed and turned away as Narcissa removed Hermione's robes and underclothes and placed a fresh nightgown on her, his respect strange to Hermione's dazed eyes.

"Suky!" demanded Narcissa sharply. "Where is the tea?"

Suddenly Snape's voice joined the melee. "Move away. I must see to her now." She opened her eyes and saw Snape peering down at her with concern. "You must not lose yourself in your mind. Voldemort is no longer there."

"I can feel him," she whispered.

He lifted her head. "Drink this."

Hermione braced herself for something vile, so she was pleasantly surprised to find it sweet tasting.

"Tasty," she muttered before falling unconscious.

------

In her wakeful sleep, she stumbled as she attempted to navigate in a world without light, completely reliant on Narcissa's touch and Snape's soft voice. And yet she had an idea of where she was going, for even as Voldemort had held her mind, she had briefly held a small part of his. Now, using senses that she did not understand and were mostly not her own, she moved around the new obstacles in her mind, seeking a way out of the darkness.

In what seemed like days later, Hermione opened her eyes.

"Welcome back, Miss Granger." Snape was sitting in a chair next to her bed.

"How long was I asleep?" she croaked painfully. Her throat parched, she eyed the pitcher of water longingly. Thankfully, Snape understood her request.

He raised her head and assisted her to drink. "Almost three days."

"Days?" Hermione frowned, the muscles in her face still feeling lax. "That long?"

Snape gave her an irritated look. "You were severely ill, Miss Granger. Of course you were asleep that long."

Inwardly, she sighed. For someone who just informed her that she had almost died, he was decidedly unconcerned. "Thank you for healing me."

"In this case, you thanks in unwarranted. You have done most of the healing yourself."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Voldemort did not attack you physically but mentally. Your sheer mental discipline is what kept you sane. Naturally, you are still young and untried in these arts, so of course you could not survive the encounter unaffected, but you managed tolerably well, Miss Granger."

_A compliment_, reasoned Hermione. Too tired to feel any pride over her accomplishment, she asked, "Sir, can you tell me what happened?"

Snape rose from his chair and stretched. He must have maintained a vigil on her bedside, and this time, the feeling of warmth did wash over her. "What do you remember?"

Her brows knit as she thought back to the Death Eater meeting. "Not much. I…remember being afraid." This time her composure nearly broke, and she shuddered as she looked at the glass of water in her hands. "Professor…"

"There is no shame in your fear, Hermione." Her given name acted as a balm to her wounded spirit. "This is your first encounter with the Dark Lord. I have yet to see any man or woman who did not shrink before the Dark Lord during his first encounter."

"No, but I almost gave in. If he had waited a few seconds longer, my defenses would have crumbled." She looked up at him bleakly. "I dropped my weapon," she hissed as she referred back to his earlier advice.

Snape shook his head. "You wielded them for a moment, and that in itself is a great accomplishment."

But she could still feel the despair inside. "Why am I still in shadow? Why have I not recovered?"

"Voldemort tried to paralyze you with terror and almost considered destroying you. His power and shadow cannot so easily be pushed aside." Snape sighed. "Child, be thankful that you have survived and are still in possession of your own mind. And be especially thankful that you have been given the opportunity to heal. Most do not have that luxury."

Hermione's hands clenched around the glass. "I don't think I can face such fear again."

Snape had clearly run out of sympathy. "You may not trust your abilities, but that does not change your obligations." His tone had ceased being gentle and had become harsh once again. "You are a key player in our rebellion, and you must take the necessary steps to heal and free yourself from the Dark Lord's taint as much as possible."

"But he's too strong. And the darkness inside me – I'm too afraid to fight it. I can't win against it."

"Miss Granger, stop your romantic notions at once and look at me." He waited until her fear-filled gaze met his. "The darkness inside yourself is made in part by the darkness of your own heart and your own thoughts. Regardless of what Dumbledore said, we are all part dark and part light, and there is good and evil in all beings – including in the late Harry Potter. There is nothing to be done about it. All people, Muggle or magical, are affected by this affliction. Through fear, Voldemort has augmented your own doubts and created an opening where your own shadows can be nurtured."

Hermione hesitated before whispering, "This shadow inside me…will it get bigger?"

"Yes," he answered softly. "It will get bigger every time you see him, every time you go on a mission for him, and every time you think of him." He leaned forward. "It will grow until your own image in a mirror makes your heart clench in grief. Such is your doom, as it is everyone else's. It is a losing battle, to be sure, but we must all fight it until there are none left." He removed the glass from her hands. "But you will learn how to manage the shadow, and it will make you stronger. You will begin to use your own shadow to battle against Voldemort's greater one, for now you know of his deceits and powers."

"I feel as if I paid a great price for this knowledge."

"You have, and as time passes, the price will rise. But for now, we try to resist the darkness and hold close what little hope we have." He took another cup from the table. "This is a sleeping draught. You may think you have slept enough, but you haven't. You must go back to the realm of your dreams and keep on fighting the shadow. That was not a request," he added sternly.

She stared at the clear liquid, and for a brief moment, she felt the darkness recede. "Voldemort tried to manipulate my mind," she suddenly stated. "And if there's one thing I prize more than anything else, it's the sanctity of my mind. He violated that sanctity, and now I'll make him suffer for it."

Snape smiled slowly and dangerously. "I believe you will."

------

Lucius eyed the people in his study. Narcissa, Draco, and Charlie stood gathered around his desk, each waiting for Severus to return with news of Miss Granger's status. "I don't understand why I can't see her," snapped Charlie.

Lucius bowed his head and raised a hand to his temple. Charlie had been incensed that Miss Granger had been hurt during his absence, as well as horrified by how she had gotten hurt. Though Charlie was turning out to be a capable assistant and all that Lucius could have hoped for in a successor, he still was a Weasley, which meant becoming too emotionally involved with people. Lucius made a mental note to cure Charlie of this affliction.

"Because, stupid, she's in a state of near mental collapse, and she can't handle any aggravations you would be causing." That was Draco.

Lucius closed his eyes.

"Boys!" Narcissa glared at both of them. "If you have a problem, take it elsewhere."

Lucius eyed the bottle of liquor near his desk.

Thankfully, Severus chose that moment to enter the room.

"How does Miss Granger fare, Severus?" asked Lucius as he ushered his old friend into a seat.

"She has just now regained consciousness, but I gave her another sleeping draught. It will take her a long time to regain her full strength. But I am pleased to note that her mental faculties are as sharp as ever." His mouth tightened. "I had hoped that this near brush with death would have eliminated all maudlin Gryffindoric tendencies, but some are still there."

Draco sneered. "Too bad." But it was obvious to everyone, Lucius especially, that his eyes showed the tiniest bit of relief at Severus's news.

"And she will soon be fit to travel," added Severus.

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. "Is she going somewhere?"

He stood. "If I might have a few moments with Lucius, please."

At first no one moved, but then Narcissa rose and gave Severus a light kiss on the cheek. "After you are finished here, come to the kitchen. You must be famished."

"Thank you." He caught her hand and kissed it.

"Draco, Charlie, come along now." She beckoned the two boys to precede her out the door and then shut the door behind her.

Lucius took note of his friend's tired features. "What is it?"

"While I was monitoring Miss Granger, I had some thoughts." Briefly, he went over his newly formed plan.

After Severus was finished: "You want them to go where?" Lucius stared at his old friend – once again doubting his friend's sanity.

"I am sending them to the Americas, not another planet," scowled Severus as he helped himself to the whiskey in Lucius's office. "I need Granger to recover poison specific to the indigenous snakes of the Plains, and Draco ought to mingle with the Americans."

Lucius wrinkled his nose. "Americans are such vulgar people." Lucius, in his early twenties, had gone on a recruiting trip to the United States in an effort to enlist international members for their anti-Muggle movement. However, American wizards had no interest in joining world politics – indeed, like their Muggle counterparts, they were content in maintaining their political isolation. Furthermore, several prominent American witches and wizards had protested the segregation, some even going so far as to call it apartheid.

American culture was simply too bizarre for Lucius to handle, for the strict codes that governed the magical societies of the Old World did not exist in the New World. Consequently, after a few days of arguing half-heartedly, Lucius left the United States and had not returned since.

"Crass they may be, American wizards and witches are by far the wealthiest. Their fortunes number into the billions of galleons. Gringotts practically belongs to them." Snape held the bottle up to the firelight. "Since when have you taken to drinking firewhiskey?"

Lucius tapped his forehead. "A gift from the Leaky Cauldron's new owners." The previous owner, a strong supporter of Dumbledore, had died a few months ago. Ironically, his death had not been the result of post-war elimination but simply an embarrassing accident involving a grindylow, a cauldron of bubbling soup, and a broomstick.

"Going back to the American situation, I feel that by mingling with them, we go against everything we have fought for. All American witches and wizards are Muggle-blooded. They simply have not been around long enough to earn pureblood status." This was an indisputable fact. When early colonials were settling the Americas, several Muggle-born witches and wizards had also fled Britain to escape persecution of their own. And while they had finally gained the magical freedom they cherished, they had underestimated their ability to blend in. Unlike Britain, where several safeguards were in place to keep Muggles from becoming aware of the magic around them, the colonies had no such system. Furthermore, the colonial wizarding community lacked the experience and strength to keep their activities secretive.

All of this culminated in the infamous Salem Witch trials, the repercussions of which led to a diminished magical influence in the Americas. Whatever magical people remained allowed their abilities to lay dormant, which led to their complete integration into Muggle society – the very thing that purebloods abhorred.

Today, American wizards used their magic for commercial purposes, thus allowing them to be very successful in business ventures. And while the magical communities in Western Europe looked down their noses at the bourgeois Americans, the rest of the world could not afford to mind. Countries such as Bangladesh, Kenya, and the Phillipines were dependent on American aid in order to run their magical schools and institutions. In return, American witches and wizards attended schools in these countries, for the United States was not a suitable place for a magical school.

This problem had plagued the American magical community for quite some time. But the American government was too sweeping in its power, there being no possible way a magical school could run undetected in a government known for its oversight. Worse was the fact that the United States, for all its talk about being the world's melting pot and the place of liberty, would never be able to accept the idea of witches and wizards, making governmental cooperation, such as in Britain and France, not possible either.

"I understand your point, Lucius, and I fully agree. However, we both must come to terms with the fact that our treasury is severely depleted. Even if we re-establish our commercial ties with the rest of the world, it is still not enough." Severus looked at Lucius bleakly. "We need a lot of money, Lucius, and right now, the Americans are the only ones rich enough for the role."

Lucius looked at the bottle of firewhiskey for a few moments. "I may as well drink myself senseless," he muttered. "Well, they simply aren't going to give us the money."

"Of course not. And that, my dear Lucius, is why you are the Minister of Magic. You will think of something clever. Maybe a fund for widowed witches or a joint education program. Some nonsense that we can use to get the money we need."

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "That is why you're sending Granger, is it not? The _real_ reason."

Severus nodded in satisfaction. "The Americans think we are pureblooded monsters. They will not be expecting someone like Granger in such a position of esteem. Perhaps this will cause them to rethink their position on our government."

"Tsk tsk," admonished Lucius. "How vile of you to use your assistant in such a way."

"I still am a Death Eater," sneered Severus. "We both are."


	6. These Self Evident Truths

**Chapter: **(06) – These Self-Evident Truths  
**Chapter****Summary:** Some new friends for Hermione and Charlie – and an understanding of an enemy.  
**Author notes: **Every time I think about updating this story, J.K. Rowling comes out with another book. _Nest of Vipers_ is now quite literally an alternate universe story in another universe. :P

------

_Social customs changed very little during the transition of power from Dumbledore to Voldemort. Cultural changes take place over time, and while upheaval might speed the process along and influence the way that change goes, it still takes time – and usually, a new generation._

--- _The New History of Britain, Book VI_

------

Charlie Weasley turned up the collar of his coat as he walked into the rain. After spending years in gloomy Romania, Charlie did not mind London weather as much. Bill would have complained, of course, but that was the result of becoming used to Egyptian weather. 

_Bill…_

He shook his head. There would be no thoughts of Bill today. Charlie had a long day ahead of him.

Entering the Ministry building, he smiled at a few wizards politely as he wondered why he hadn't simply flooed to work this morning. But he had wanted to fly today, and as an almost-Quidditch legend, he had not reined in the impulse. So here he was, dripping water onto the Ministry's polished foyer floor. "Hey Charlie!"

He looked up to see Vanessa Zabini, Blaise's older sister, waving at him from one of the plush sofas in the reception area. The family resemblance between brother and sister was uncanny. Like Blaise, Vanessa was tall, with black hair and whiskey colored eyes. "Hello, Vanessa."

As he walked over, she looked over him appraisingly. "Walked to work today, did you?"

"I flew," he replied uneasily. Vanessa was a beautiful witch, and as far as he knew, a kind one. She had been a year under him at Hogwarts and had been one of the few Slytherins who had borne no animosity towards him. In fact, the entire Zabini clan strayed from conventional pureblood behavior. Yet Charlie's current status was still too new, and he wondered why he was the recipient of Vanessa's charm.

"I can help you." She pulled out her wand and muttered a drying spell over him. "Now you look presentable."

Of course he did. He was wearing clothes that cost hundreds of galleons. Briefly he wondered if Vanessa would have even looked at him last year. "So what brings you here, Vanessa?" He removed his coat and placed it over his arm.

She smiled up at him, her lashes fluttering in innocence. "My father and brother work at the Ministry, Charlie. I'm considered a familiar face around here." She rose to stand in front of him. "However, today I came to see you."

Charlie looked at her sharply. "Me?" If he were not so shocked over the entire situation, he would have blushed.

"Yes." Vanessa glanced around. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation in your office?" He nodded and led her towards the lifts. "How do you like your new job?"

"It's challenging." What he really wanted to say was that he would rather be back on a dragon reserve, but for all he knew, Vanessa could have been sent here by Lucius. He opened the door and ushered her inside.

Vanessa perused the room while he hung his coat. "Very nice, Charlie. Being Lucius's assistant has its perks, I see."

"Would you care for a drink or perhaps some tea?" Still not sure what Vanessa wanted from him, he sat down and looked at her. Contrary to what Hermione believed, Charlie was still not fully accepted into society either. He had an easier time of it, but there were the occasional comments that reminded Charlie of whose son he was. And while many witches had flashed him inviting smiles, he knew their motives were not honest ones. Either they wanted a quick romp in bed or a pet to do their bidding.

"No, but thank you. I can tell you are very busy and are just itching to get me out of this office." Charlie was about to correct her but saw that her eyes were twinkling.

"Am I that transparent?"

She smiled. "Well, let's just say that I can read you quite easily." She sobered. "And I assure you, it is quite a refreshing change from what I usually encounter. My other friends, male or female, make their livings based on misleading people."

"Am I your friend, Vanessa?"

"Would you like to be?" Her face was open, her eyes guileless.

Charlie felt the ache within him grow. In this new world, Hermione was his only friend, and even their friendship was more like one between brother and sister. It would be nice to have a friend again…

Thankfully, she took pity on him. "That question does not need to be answered now." She leaned forward. "As you know, Blaise has been marooned in Russia for almost a month. He will be returning next week, so I will be throwing a small gathering for friends – and hopeful friends."

"Vanessa…"

"Look, I know that you have little trust in me or any of the other people you know. But I promise, this will be a small group of nice, unpretentious people." She gave him an entreating glance. "And I would like it very much if you could bring Hermione. Blaise writes of her, and I know he will be delighted to see her."

Later, he would not be sure how Vanessa crossed his defenses. Perhaps it was because Vanessa had called Hermione by her name, not "Mublood" or "that Granger girl," or any of the other titles Hermione carried.

"Alright. I'll come."

Vanessa clapped her hands in delight. "Excellent! Sometime later this week I will send you an owl with detailed information."

Charlie allowed himself a small smile. "You could have just sent an owl in the first place."

"And give you the opportunity to decline?" Vanessa shook her head. "I still am a Slytherin." She rose. "I will be on my way then, or Lucius will have my hide for keeping you from work."

He walked her to the lifts. "I have just one question for you." He waited until her gaze met his. "Why are you making so much of an effort for me?"

Vanessa's eyes widened. "I never thought of you as a project, Charlie. I came here because I wanted to see you, and I invited you because I wanted you to come."

Charlie flushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to question your intentions. It's just that…it's hard for me, that's all."

"I know. And I know how much everything has been costing you." Her eyes held sympathy. "Thank you for accepting my invitation." With one last smile, she vanished inside the lift.

------

If a sociologist were ever able to compare Magical and Muggle cultures, they would find many startling parallels. First and foremost is the ideal, held by the young, educated, and liberal population, of a global economy and society that transcends national boundaries and identities. Second is the belief of the upper class in the necessity for maintaining their sovereignty and _purity_ by keeping foreigners and foreign ideals out. Third is the eventual yielding by both parties to the group with the most money and wealth. And though Purebloods would denounce any comparisons with their Muggle counterparts, the parallel between the magical and the non-magical communities was disturbing in the very least. 

Hermione was, in essence, a witch that represented a wizarding world that was becoming more global and commercial by the day. She was fluent in several languages without the aid of spells, was quite eager to meet and befriend people from other countries, and believed that all societies must work together for the goal of a prosperous future. Her views and ideals were unfortunately at odds with the Pureblood segment of society, which believed that big signs, with "KEEP OUT" written in bold letters, should be posted all across the borders of Britain.

So it came as no surprise to anyone that when Lucius had told his son that he was to go to America, Draco had refused at first – until he was reminded that it was an order, not a request. Hermione, on the other hand, was delighted. America – and more specifically, the United States, was a place where she could be accepted despite her status as a Muggleborn. In fact, their legacy of being persecuted would work in her favor. Hermione knew that American wizards and witches would be more inclined to view her favorably than Draco, for just as the United States welcomed those of mixed and varied heritage, it also shunned royalty and any "pure" bloodline.

She was very excited. And worried. What if she did not want to come back? But from what she had heard, American immigration was strictly enforced. Maybe once she was done with the Voldemort business, she could apply for residency there. If she managed to survive, that was.

Currently, Hermione was sitting in the middle of her bed as she sifted through clothes, trying to decide what to wear to the party tonight. She had already set aside the clothes she would take with her next week, as well as her work clothes. At least she owned her own Muggle clothes, for American wizards did not wear robes, or wear hats, or do anything remotely wizard-like.

Malfoy was appalled, and he had been forced to ask Hermione where he could purchase high-quality Muggle designer clothes. She had laughed for a full ten minutes before replying.

Score ten points for Hermione Granger!

Currently, Draco Malfoy was up one hundred points – he had won the war, after all, and he was taller than she was – so he had an unfair head start. But, she reflected as she eagerly picked out a violet-colored dress, she would catch up.

Not that Malfoy knew of her secret tally. If he knew, then she could not cheat and give herself free points for being the better person and not hexing him when his back was turned.

"Suky," called out Hermione. Within seconds, the timid house-elf appeared. "Hello Suky, how are you today?" She may have had to give up her Elf Liberation Movement, but the Malfoys could not stop her from being friendly.

Not that it ever worked. "Suky is fed, Mistress."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She had once spent an entire tea-time with Suky as she tried to explain that it was okay for a house-elf to feel happy – or better yet, angry! – but Suky had become so agitated that she ended up spilling all of the tea. "That's good to hear. Will you please inform me when Mr. Weasley arrives from the Ministry? I will be performing some rather loud charms in here, so I may not hear his entrance."

"Yes, Mistress." Suky bobbed her head most agreeably and then vanished.

"Thank you," said Hermione to herself. Tiredly, she headed towards the spacious bathroom. It had been only a week since her meeting with the Dark Lord, and though she had regained her physical strength, she was still mentally exhausted. At work, she had trouble concentrating, often times reliving the entire episode several times a week. Snape had been surprisingly conscientious at first, perhaps remembering when he too had first touched minds with Voldemort. But now he was back to his normal ogre-like self and was pushing Hermione to get back on track.

She finally did, and she continued to learn rapidly, which caused Snape and Lucius to be more than pleased with her progress though they should not have been surprised. The first lessons Hermione had received as a child was in how to learn. And the first lesson of all was the basic trust that she could learn. It had been shocking for her to find how many people at Hogwarts had not believed they could learn, and how many more had believed learning to be difficult.

Snape, as usual, made no mention of being impressed but instead gave her stern warnings about what he expected of her in the United States.

_"I fully expect you to be in charge of your faculties when you represent this government, Miss Granger. I would prefer that you leave all talk of politics to young Malfoy. Policy is not your domain, and adding your supposed observations will not help matters. You will, on the other hand, be responsible for the acquisition of materials, and you are more than welcome to engage in any sort of scientific discourse."_

"Well, thank you, Professor Snape, for your vote of confidence. It wasn't enough that I become a Death Eater for you."

She filled a small basin with water and added a few drops of lavender oil. It was a sort of instant refresher, and she could count on it to give her face some much needed freshness. Weeks of living at the Manor and the stress of her situation had given her an almost pinched and washed out complexion – something she most certainly did not want tonight.

The dress she would be wearing tonight had been a very impromptu purchase. Having walked by it on her way to a meeting, she came back and saw that it was still there.

It was Grecian-cut, with layers of thin chiffon meant to be draped over a slim figure. It was one of the few dress styles actually suited for Hermione's rather angular body, for this sort of design added an extra dimension of softness to a boyish figure. The color was flattering as well, for the soft violent would bring out the warmth of Hermione's eyes and hair.

If Hermione had learned one lesson when it came to beauty, it was that the world's tailors simply did not make clothes with her in mind. She had to look extra hard to find items that flattered her. So when she came upon this dress, a dress that seemed to have been made with her specifically in mind, she walked inside that store, and without a second thought, paid over two hundred galleons for it. It was the most expensive dress she had ever owned, thanks to Malfoy money. And though the dress was beautiful, for she had shown it to Narcissa in a rare moment of feminine bonding, it was a testament to how low she had stooped. The old Hermione Granger would never buy such a wasteful item, one that was made specifically to enhance her appearance, nor would she ever have used the enemy's money to buy it.

But the old Hermione Granger was, to almost everyone, dead. So she pushed away her feelings of revulsion and spent her paycheck quite freely. It was important for everyone to think that she was letting her new status get to her head. No one could know how much she hated herself, or else it would ruin everything.

Snape did not know it, but she was not on anybody's side either.

Two hours later, Suky appeared to inform her that Charlie had arrived from the Ministry and was getting ready in his own rooms. Hermione once again cursed men for being so lucky. They only needed ten minutes to get ready, whereas Hermione was in her second hour of getting dressed, and she still was not finished.

She was brave enough to admit that the reason it was taking so long was because she wanted to look perfect. The party was in Blaise's honor, and she did not wish to shame him since everyone knew she was likely invited at his insistence. If she were going to be the hated Muggle tonight, at least she would be a reasonably pretty hated Muggle.

"Hermione, are you ready?" It was Charlie.

"Yes, just about. You can come in if you like." She hurriedly snapped in a few more pins in her hair. "Well, what do you think?" She twirled around for his benefit.

Appreciation glinted in his blue eyes. "Absolutely divine. Wherever did you find such a dress?"

"Knockturn Alley." Hermione quickly scanned his appearance. Clad in a gray suit with a black coat over it, he looked rather fetching himself.

Charlie whistled. "Knockturn Alley? I hope you checked that dress for booby traps."

She smiled. "I did. Several times. But this dress was just too good to pass up." She turned back to the mirror. "I wish I had something for my hair though."

"I see that someone is going to be knocked off his feet tonight," he said laughingly. "Now hold on for a minute. I think I can help you." He disappeared through the door, and within moments, he returned with a handful of white lilies. "Put these in your hair. It is a garden party, after all."

Hermione smiled in pleasure as the sweet scent of the flowers filled the air. "Perfect." She quickly coiled them into her hair. "Now how do I look?"

"You'll make everyone jealous." He held out his hand and led her out the door. "I should tell you one thing though. Malfoy will be coming with us tonight."

Her happy mood vanished. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Blaise and Malfoy are friends, after all."

"Well, don't worry. Vanessa told Malfoy to be on his best behavior. And one thing Malfoy will never do is shame his family in someone else's home."

She followed him down a spiral staircase, once again wishing that more congenial people lived in this beautiful home. "He's going to floo over with us?"

"Probably. It doesn't make sense for us to go separately, especially since we're all coming from the same place."

Her suspicions were confirmed when they arrived at the fireplace in the foyer. Malfoy was already there, impeccably dressed in black and gray, with a green tie adding some color. His eyes regarded them coldly. "Ready to leave?"

Charlie nodded stiffly. Despite being held in high regard by Lucius, Charlie did not get along with Malfoy. Not surprising, since Malfoy had killed three of his brothers. "Granger," said Malfoy as he gestured for her to go first. "Call out Fontevrault. That's their house."

She took a handle of floo powder, stepped inside the fireplace, and loudly repeated the house name. She distantly found herself amused by the fact that only the very rich gave their houses names.

The room she stepped into was warmly lit, decorated with a coziness she did not expect. Yet she found the burnished rosewood furniture and softly lit lamps pleasing.

"Hermione!" Blaise greeted her with a smile lighting his handsome features. "I can't tell you how delighted I was when I heard you were coming."

Unsure if she should offer her hand or not, she simply smiled back. "I can't wait to hear about your trip."

"There isn't much more to tell you. My owl had to take a break from all the letters I sent you." Of his own accord, he reached down and grasped her hand securely in his. "Welcome to my home, Hermione."

"Goodness, Blaise. You're certainly making the effort tonight. I suppose you put out your best china." Malfoy's voice came from behind them.

Blaise rolled his eyes. Planting a kiss on Hermione's hand, he straightened to bow mockingly to Malfoy. "I've been away from weeks, and that's all you can say to me?"

Malfoy waited until Blaise released Hermione's hand before offering his own. "You took care of business admirably. Glad to see the Russians didn't drown you in alcohol."

Blaise turned to Charlie. "Weasley," he said respectfully. "I bid you all welcome to Fontevrault." He offered his arm to Hermione. "And you are just in time." He led them through a well-lit parlor to the garden, where various men and women sat comfortably on chaises and benches. "Vanessa, look who has arrived." He smiled kindly at Hermione. "Vanessa is my sister."

A tall witch approached them with a smile on her face. Hermione could only gaze at her in rapt curiosity as she took in her features. It was hard to ignore the startling mirror imagery of Blaise and this woman, especially when what was mirrored was as much astounding intelligence and innate charisma as incomparable beauty. Hermione tilted her head and examined Blaise with more appreciative eyes than she had ever been allowed to before. Both brother and sister possessed an allure that was neither ephemeral nor earthy but simply and singularly theirs.

"Hello, Charlie". She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek that caused Hermione to raise her eyebrows. "And you must be Miss Granger." Vanessa turned warm eyes upon her. "I cannot tell you how delighted I am to finally meet you, Miss Granger. Blaise has mentioned you so often I that simply insisted Charlie bring you tonight."

Hermione smiled back. "Thank you for inviting me. And please, call me Hermione."

"It will be my pleasure to introduce you both to some of my friends." She gestured around the room. "This is a gathering of like minds, if you get my drift?"

Charlie and Hermione both nodded. It was their first non-formal social occasion, and it was relief to know that there would be no prejudice here.

------

As Vanessa welcomed Hermione and Charlie warmly, Draco stood slightly behind them and wondered at this puzzling turn of events. He had known that Blaise and Granger were friends, but he was sure that he had seen more than friendly regard in both of their eyes tonight. And he felt very uncomfortable with the idea. The war was barely over. Intimate association with a Muggleborn could ruin Blaise's credibility. 

"Draco!" All thoughts vanished as Vanessa turned her radiant smile upon him. "I'm glad you came."

He kissed her proffered hand. "It was kind of you to extend an invitation to me." She laughed in pleasure as she led Weasley and Granger off to introduce them to the other guests, thus leaving Draco with Blaise.

He turned his pewter eyes onto his friend. "Now you can tell me honestly. How did things turn out in Russia?"

Blaise handed him a glass of wine from a tray being carried by a wandering house-elf. "In our favor." He brushed away imaginary dirt from the lapel of his jacket. "I made a few promises here and there, and soon we had our trading rights established again." A smile graced his handsome face. "It's all politics. You know how the game works."

"Yes, I know how the game works." Draco eyed their reflections in pool next to them. He and Blaise were a contrast. His pale skin and light hair next to Blaise's dusky skin and black hair – and yet they both possessed the same ruthless streak that had made them such good friends.

Blaise noted his friend's demeanor. "How are things at home?"

Draco looked across the room where Granger was involved in a discussion with one of Vanessa's friends. "My father will not admit it, but I think he rather likes having Weasley and Granger in our home. And my mother is certainly glad for female company."

"What about you?" asked Blaise, noticing that Draco's eyes still remained on Granger.

"I don't like it, if that's what you mean. But my father's word is law, and if he says that they are to stay with us, then I have no choice but to accept having a Muggleborn under the same roof."

Blaise shook his head. "Do you ever talk to her? I mean, really talk to her?"

"Why should I?" scoffed Draco. "There are many people with acceptable blood for me to speak to. People who are not still pining over Harry Potter."

"And therein lies the difference between you and me. You see Hermione and see her Muggle origins. I see her and see someone who has a pleasant disposition, is attractive, and is very intelligent." He took a long drink from his glass. "Which of us is stronger, and more importantly, right? History shall decide, my friend."

Draco felt a vague prickling of unease. As genuine as Blaise's words were, there was something in his voice that Draco did not like. He knew Blaise to be a womanizer, and he did not doubt that Granger was next on his list. And as much as Draco told himself that he did not care, that Granger ought to learn that she was just a means to an end, he was not sure if he wanted her used in such a fashion.

In the end, he just shrugged it off. Granger could deal with it.

------

The evening progressed quite nicely for Hermione. All of Blaise and Vanessa's friends were much different from the usual sort of people that Lucius and Snape entertained in their homes. These young wizards and witches were far from being antiquated in their beliefs. In fact, only Malfoy had the unfortunate honor of being antiquated, but at least he was a minority. 

It had surprised her to no end when Ethel Mayberry, a short woman with hints of red in her blond hair, made a few negative remarks about the new government. She had assumed that everyone here was in ardent support of Lucius's new order. But to her pleasure, it seemed that it was not the case. And even Vanessa and Blaise were open in what they said.

At first Hermione kept her thoughts to herself. After all, Draco Malfoy would not hesitate in reporting to his father. But when he agreed to a few of the remarks, Hermione could no longer keep her thoughts to herself. Besides, she had reasoned, it would be unnatural for her to be completely supportive of the Malfoys. Everyone knew she was working for them under coercion.

"I think that it's a good thing that Dumbledore was removed," stated Drew Pennysbrook, a tall Irishman. "I think that Malfoy will do a better job in keeping our society intact."

"But the question is, can Lucius Malfoy unite our society?" asked Vanessa. "We are all so divided. Purebloods and mixed bloods and Muggleborns – when do we go back to calling ourselves simply magical people?"

Charlie looked thoughtful. "The question is, what can we expect from the Dark Lord?" 

Vanessa replenished everyone's wine. "My grandmother used to say that if the Dark Lord was as he was when he first began to speak out against the government, there would be more hope. He certainly never preached murder when he was young."

"And it is what happened to Dumbledore," pointed out Drew.

Hermione almost spilled her wine. "Dumbledore was not violent."

"No, but his inaction prompted violence," he said in return. "He was content in his role as head wizard, and he took too much time in waiting for Harry Potter to finish what he started."

Malfoy thankfully changed the subject. "In any case, the Dark Lord has very little say in the administration of the government as long as we follow his more…spiritual guidelines."

Blaise nodded in agreement. "I do not envy your father's job, Draco. Not even he can be so foresighted as to see the effect of this rebellion in the future."

Malfoy looked troubled, and for once, his tone bore no malice.. "The world of Dumbledore now belongs in the texts of history scrolls. Many hate the people who defeated it, but they have no idea what they want in its place. It's why my father did what he did. He could no longer bear to see our world grow any weaker. And so he took steps to ensure its survival."

"By killing so many innocent people?" asked Hermione in outrage.

"There is no one innocent, Granger." His pewter eyes glowed with conviction as everyone else listened with rapt attention. "Yes, there are divisions in society. But it is useless to think that we will all be united. Perhaps a day will come when divisions based on blood heritage will not matter. But there will be other divisions. Such is the nature of humanity, whether Muggle or Magical." He looked around at everyone's faces. "Dumbledore believed in ideals that are not possible, and his supporters thought they saw such a future. But it was only a mirage. A person cannot drink from a mirage, but he can drown in it. And that is why people died, Granger."

This had slowly become a two-person discussion. Everyone else kept silent and allowed Hermione and Malfoy to have their first real conversation. "But that's wrong," she insisted. "You're following the attitude of the sword – you chop off the wrong and impossible and say, 'Now it's complete and possible because it ended here'." Hermione shook her head. "People need the freedom to wish for an ideal."

"Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty," he quoted.

"Your liberties all vanish when you look up to any absolute ruler," shot back Hermione.

Malfoy disagreed. "Neither the Dark Lord nor my father are absolute rulers, Granger. This is still a government."

"No. A government is where the people give the power. The Dark Lord took power. He _stole_ power."

He laughed. "Not even the most accomplished thief can steal a whole country. The inaction, in fact the apathy, of its citizens gave it to him."

Vanessa found this to be a good moment to change topics. "Speaking of thieves, do you know what happened to me in Knockturn Alley the other day?"

------

Dinner had already been served, but neither Hermione nor Malfoy said much after their earlier argument. It was as if they had reached a tentative truce. Perhaps that was what they had needed all along – a place to air out their views so that they no longer had to hide behind insults. She sat quietly as she listened to Ethel and Vanessa chat about the latest fashions, her normally verbose personality for once subdued as she considered tonight's revelations. She had never heard Malfoy speak with such passion before. He _believed_ everything he said. It was not just rhetoric learned at his father's knee. 

She had lived life at Hogwarts with the assumption that he was a brainless follower of Voldemort, who had taken the Dark Mark because his father told him too. She had never credited him for actually understanding the social and political situation and taking steps to see his beliefs realized.

Draco Malfoy was a far more dangerous enemy than she had assumed.

At that moment, Hermione looked up, and as if Malfoy knew he was the subject of her thoughts, he trained his eyes on her from across the room. She caught her breath under Malfoy's regard, and for some reason, her heart began to pound, though she did not know why. Perhaps it was a sense of foreboding she felt because, for the first time, she could feel his physical strength and compelling will even from such a distance. She did her best to return the gaze as steadily as possible. The twilight eyes considered her a while longer before turning away, thus releasing her abruptly from their spell. She shifted her gaze to Blaise's warmer one, who smiled at her winningly.

She watched as he excused himself from Malfoy and made his way towards her. Malfoy watched them intensely, almost disapprovingly, and perhaps in defiance, Hermione's smile grew brighter and her laugh merrier as Blaise took a seat next to her.

------

As the hour grew late, Draco began to take his leave. As much as he enjoyed spending time with Blaise and Vanessa, he had a long journey ahead of him tomorrow, and he still had to finish reading the background papers his father had given him. He briefly considered leaving Granger, but she had not finished her work either, and Draco would not appear before the Americans without being fully prepared. He approached Granger, who was involved in some sort of discussion with Vanessa and Charlie. "Granger, we should head back to the Manor. We need to finish our preparations and rest before we leave tomorrow." 

"So soon?" asked Vanessa. "The party isn't even close to being over."

"I would love to stay, Vanessa, but Malfoy is right. We do need to rise early tomorrow." She took note of Charlie's crestfallen expression. "But Charlie, you might as well stay longer. You have no tiring travel ahead of you, and it seems unfair to make you leave with us."

Charlie looked uneasy as he glanced at Malfoy. "Are you sure? Because I don't mind coming with you, Hermione."

"I absolutely insist. And I'll be fine."

Malfoy smirked. "I promise I won't hex her in the floo."

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Draco." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Have a safe trip, darling." She then hugged Hermione. "And it was a pleasure to have you here tonight."

"I can't begin to tell you how much I enjoyed being here. I don't think I've had any fun for a long time. Thank you," Hermione said sincerely. "I'll see you back at the Manor, Charlie."

She followed Draco as they entered the house again, only to run into Blaise. "Don't tell me you are leaving."

"We must, I'm afraid." Draco looked thoughtful. "But we'll only be gone for a week. Come by then, and we can catch up since we were unable to do so properly tonight."

"Fair enough." Blaise turned to Hermione. "I expect letters."

Hermione laughed. "You shall certainly get them."

"When you return, perhaps we can have dinner in a more intimate setting? Then you can tell me all about those witless Americans." Beside him, Draco frowned.

"I should like that very much."

He walked them to the fireplace. "Good luck, Draco." Once again, he kissed Hermione. "Goodbye."

Draco pushed Hermione towards the fireplace. "Blaise, you'll keep us here all night with your romancing."

"I can't help it," he called out as Malfoy began the trip back to the manor.

Once at home, he took a deep breath. He felt more tired from this evening of relaxation than he was from a full day of work. He tapped his foot as he waited for Granger to appear. _If Blaise is still saying his bloody goodbyes…_

She appeared at that very moment. Still disoriented, she stepped out of the fireplace and stumbled. Without thinking, Draco reached out and steadied her. When she looked up at him in surprise, he noticed the happiness dim from her eyes. "You can't injure yourself until we return," he snapped in explanation.

"Thank you." She shook the dust from her dress and prepared to leave, but he caught her arm.

"Listen, Granger, can I give you some advice?" She looked at him suspiciously. "I know you and Blaise are friends. But you should be wary. He isn't as sincere as he seems."

She pulled her arm free from his grasp. "You are unbelievable, Malfoy. He's your friend. How can you say such things about him?"

"It is because he's my friend that I know this." He sighed in frustration. Why was he even bothering? "It's in your own best interests to be careful."

Granger walked away. "The only interests you have ever cared for is your own, Malfoy. And your interest in my well-being only extends to when I'll be killed off."

"Gryffindors," he muttered. He went off in search of his room. These days, his dreams made more sense than real life.


	7. More Than Two Faces

**Chapter:** (07) – More than Two Faces  
**Chapter Summary: **A bridge is built over an impasse.  
**Author Note:** It's been a long time since my last update, but I recently became inspired to continue this story. New readers, welcome! As for my old readers – I made several changes to the story, so I recommend skimming through the previous chapters (there are only six :P), but barring that, at least read the first part of every chapter. I've added short bits of content to the beginnings that provide some more detail to _Nest of Vipers_.

I would also appreciate reviews, if only to determine how interested people are in this story, and if it's worth continuing. As much as I adore Harry Potter, I don't want to keep at it if the story isn't read-worthy.

------

_The laws of Britain changed with each new ruler. Voldemort created many new laws, including labor and sedition laws. Lucius Malfoy was noted for completely eliminating the forced labor laws and even doing away with indenture contracts outside of national emergencies. Draco Malfoy was known for many other things, including returning to a more democratic process in his laws, though much power still remained with him. Most of the laws he imposed had to do with freedom of speech._

_--- The New History of Britain, Book III_

------

Draco and Granger had been taken to Diagon Alley, where they had crossed over to the Muggle world unnoticed. It was the first time they had ever been alone together, and under normal circumstances, it would be unacceptable, but in Muggle London, he was forced to acknowledge that he needed Granger to get him through – though her penchant for dramatic Gryffindorish statements annoyed him considerably.

It had irked him to no end when he discovered that he could not enter the United States through magical immigration. All people, whether Muggle or magical, had to enter the country in the same way. That way, should they ever be apprehended, they would not be in the country illegally.

_"It is difficult to be a wizard there," his father had pointed out. "You will be undercover. In fact, you will be using very little magic at all." _

_"But why? If we are going to be dealing with American wizards?" _

"It is the stipulation of the American Council of Magical Peoples," said Lucius helplessly. "They work very hard to maintain their secrecy, and the best way for them to do so is for them to blend in seamlessly."

What Lucius had left unsaid was that the Americans had done more the blend – they had _become_. And it made sense that a girl who had lived a Muggle life would bring him here now. Draco had promised himself to be on his best behavior – to her and to the Americans.

They needed American investments and trade. Fudge and the previous ministers before him and disregarded the capitalist Americans, and though Lucius had no wish to become involved with them either, money was a driving factor.

The treasury was nearly depleted from the war, and though they could expect revenue to come from British exports, it was not enough. What Lucius needed immediately was cold hard capital, and in this Draco would not fail his father.

Thus he kept his behavior subdued as Granger led him to the Muggle airport, and from there, a large vessel called an airplane. He had heard of them, of course, but he had never seen one so close in person. It was a good thing too, or else he never would have boarded it.

"How do you know it won't crash?" he asked.

Granger sighed. "I don't know that it won't," she admitted. "But they've taken many precautions. The plane has passed through rigorous safety instructions, the passengers and crew are carefully screened for illegal items, and in case something does go wrong up in the air, there are devices to help us survive."

"I would rather floo," he said almost petulantly.

Currently they were seated near the boarding gate of their flight. The terminal was crowded on this busy Saturday morning, and Draco founded his seat to be uncomfortable. He was also hungry, but he had no wish to go through the chaos of ordering food in a Muggle restaurant.

To everyone else, they looked like a pair of people on a business trip. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit, and Granger had opted for a blouse in a soft pink color and a gray skirt. She had secured that impossible hair in a low bun, and she had even deigned to wear earrings. All in all, she was dressed better than usual.

Across from them sat a trio of girls, perhaps in their late teens. All three of them were rather good-looking, and they were eyeing Draco with undisguised interest. He, on the other hand, was alternately looking down at the file in his hands and the Boeing 787 outside the window. At least he could comfort himself with the presence of his wand.

He had almost had to discard it at customs. When it passed through the scanner meant for carry-on items, the technician behind the x-ray screen flagged it as one that needed closer examination.

"Sir, can you identify this object?" A burly man in a security uniform had asked.

"My wand," he had replied unthinkingly. Beside him, Granger had groaned audibly.

The security officer had not been amused. "I think this'll have to go with the luggage."

Draco had panicked. He would not get on the plane without his wand. He needed to feel safe in this unfamiliar world, and the wand was his link to sanity.

Thankfully, Granger had intervened. "But sir, you'll note that it's made of wood. It's just a trinket my cousin picked up as a souvenir. He didn't put it in luggage to protect it from damage." She leaned forward and dropped her voice, as if she were confiding in the burly man. "And you know how boys are with their toys. He even made _me_ buy one."

The man had relented at the sight of Granger's charming smile. "I suppose it's harmless enough."

"Just clutter, if you ask me," she said, nodding in agreement. And that was the end of that.

Now he reached into the inner jacket pocket and felt the presence of his wand. He would never admit it, but Granger's presence, for the first time in his life, was welcome. He was more than content to follow her lead her because any misstep he made here could be fatal.

He felt rather than heard her shift. "Malfoy, those girls are staring at you."

"I know," he replied in a bored tone. "It's getting on my nerves."

"They're all quite pretty," she said in defense.

He turned to look at her in surprise. "Granger, are you trying to encourage me?" He shook his head. "Yes, they are pretty, but not attractive to my eyes."

"Because they are Muggles," she finished quietly. He nodded unapologetically but looked startled at her slight smile. "Oddly, that makes me feel better." She changed the subject. "Have you finished going over my notes?"

He nodded. "What else do you know about this Michael Tracy and the ACMP? Our information on them is scant." He lowered his voice so the girls nearby could not eavesdrop.

She stretched. "He is the head of the ACMP – the American Council of Magical Peoples – and he is a very successful doctor. The ACMP meets once a month, and they elect a new chairman very five years." She continued to recite the information as if she were still a student at Hogwarts. "The ACMP is comprised of one elected member from each of the ten different regions of the country. They set policy on magical usage in the United States – which is basically minimal. Several years ago, they banned flying on broomsticks anywhere in the country."

"They banned flying?" Draco looked decidedly unhappy. He was a flyboy, after all. "Perhaps we ought to look elsewhere for business."

Granger shook her head. "There is nowhere else to look. I would suggest Japan, but they have their own politic crises at the moment. No one else has the liquid capital your father needs." She looked thoughtful. "They used to allow flying in certain parts of the country, especially in the desert regions. But the military now occupies most uninhabited places, so people who wish to fly have to go to neighboring Canada."

Draco nodded. "People with sense."

Granger sighed. "Americans regulate everything. Floo network usage is monitored strictly and is only allowed in certain locations."

"At least they apparate." He looked up to see one of the girls send him an inviting smile. Giving her his best uninterested look, he continued, "For all the talk about every citizen's right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness-" and here Granger looked surprised at his knowledge. "You know, I am not as witless as you would think. I think everyone on this planet, both Muggle and Magical, has had the American _Constitution_ shoved down his throat."

"Sorry," she said unapologetically.

"Yes, well, as I was saying, for all their big words, the United States seems very oppressive to me. Rather tyrannical, in fact."

"Since the American government doesn't know about the existence of witches and wizards, they can't oppress. Oppression is most often an act done on purpose," reminded Granger primly.

Draco ignored her. Granger could get so annoying at times. "Do you have to do that?"

She looked at him in confusion. "Do what?"

"Act like we're back at school again? You aren't in Hogwarts anymore, so no need to show off." He knew his words were cruel, but a lifetime of habit had not taught him temperance.

Granger looked away from him. "You don't have to worry, Malfoy. Every time I open my eyes and see you, I remember that Hogwarts is gone."

"I shall always endeavor to be in your line of sight." When she did not respond, he switched his gaze from Granger's angry profile to the time displayed on the wall. _So much for our truce_, he reflected, feeling unregretful. He knew that Granger was needed for this mission, but that did not mean she should forget her place in the grand scheme of things.

They sat silently until boarding was called. Though Granger was the resident Muggleborn, Madam Pince had made most of the travel arrangements. She had booked their airline tickets and had arranged the meeting between them and Michael Tracy. "Come on, Granger, we have to go."

She looked up. "They board first class at the beginning," she explained.

"Yes, and that is precisely what we are. Well, I am, at least," he amended arrogantly. Draco grabbed a hold of his briefcase, and feeling slightly charitable, grabbed hers as well.

She snatched her briefcase back from him and marched towards the line. He followed, smilingly charmingly at the people she displaced. At the head of the line, the stewardess took their tickets and wished them an enjoyable flight.

Draco managed to resist pointing out that enjoyable depended on aircraft safety. He followed a seething Granger to inside the aircraft. Immediately, he was struck by how small it was. His misgivings on the rise, he took the seat next to Granger and felt for his wand again.

He turned his eyes towards Granger to see if she had similar concerns, but her jaw was still clenched in anger. Draco sighed. After all, he had promised to be on his best behavior. "My words have caused you offense," he said haltingly.

Her brown eyes flicked towards him in irritation. "Malfoy, I'm not the only one still acting like we're back at Hogwarts." When he did not comprehend immediately, she continued. "Every day, I hear slurs about being Muggleborn. I'm not ashamed of it, and people like you who call me Mudblood don't bother me anymore." Her eyes glowed brightly. "So fine, I can take that from you. But you don't have to bring money into this. I've never flown first class before – so what? Take a few steps further into the plane, and you'll see lots of people who haven't the means too either." She pressed a hand into her eyes, and when she removed them, Draco was surprised to see how tired she looked. "You have no right to be proud of your circumstances. You were born into privilege, Malfoy. You did nothing to earn it."

A thousand retorts came to his mind. Yet he felt that Granger had won this round. "You are right. I apologize." And he was contrite. He did not feel sorry for despising her Muggle origins, but perhaps repeated jabs at her previous economic situation was unwarranted. "But from now on, you will be traveling first class everywhere," he said with some cheer.

"How do you figure that?"

Draco leaned back into his chair, thankful that these were more comfortable than the ones in the airport lounges. "You are Malfoy property now."

Granger was silent for a moment, and then, "I am not anyone's property."

He understood what she was saying, and he understood what she was not. "Just don't become Voldemort's." He looked down at his right forearm, where he knew the Dark Mark was etched into his flesh. "So how long until we get there?" he asked, eager to change the subject.

------

"- of course, my wife just loves it, and so do the kids, but personally, the dogs and I'd rather live here in Virginia."

Draco nodded politely as Michael Tracy blathered on about his current lodgings. The portly American had surprised them by greeting them personally at the airport. He had then taken them to a remote estate in the Virginia woods where nine other somber faced people at been waiting for them. They were the other chairs of the ACMP, and like the nation itself, a melting pot of ethnicities and magical origins. Granger had privately informed Draco that all council members were in some way related to Muggles, and that it would be in his best interests not to mention anything about being a pureblood.

The meeting itself had been relatively short. Draco had given his presentation, which had been followed by a brief period of questions from the Americans. It seemed to have gone well, but then again, one could never be quite sure.

The meeting had been recessed for lunch. The other Americans had disappeared, but Dr. Tracy had led them to one of the dining rooms in the mansion, where food of all kinds had been set out for them. His wife was British, he had explained, and thus he was required to abstain from the voting process.

Right now, Granger and Dr. Tracy were finishing up their lunch and animatedly speaking about Muggle architecture. Irritated because it was a subject that he had no interest in – and one that he also knew nothing about – he decided a change of subject was in order.

"Dr. Tracy, I am sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you could tell us what to expect when the meeting commences again."

Across from him, Granger flushed at his tacit reminder that she had been neglecting her duties.

"The others are discussing your proposal right now. We should have a decision for you shortly." Tracy looked up to see his aide beckoning him. "There's Adam. He probably has a message for me." He stood and smiled at them. "Please, help yourself to more food, take a look around. I'll only be few moments."

After Tracy left, Draco turned to his companion. "Well, what do you think? I know my presentation was good – it would have convinced even Goblins to part with their money…"

Granger looked amused. "It _was_ good," she admitted, "but they seemed a little…well, not as curious as I would expect. I thought they'd have more questions for us." She bit her lip. "It was as if they had already come to a decision before we even got here."

Draco nodded. "I know what you mean. But I sincerely hope their decision is in our favor. We need their investments – or our government is doomed from the start."

She frowned slightly. "Four years ago, Dumbledore asked the ACMP for help in the war with Voldemort. The Americans refused. And yet, I don't think that fact is in our favor."

Draco raised his eyebrows at her use of the word _our_ but refrained from commenting. Instead, "The Americans have a history of non-interference, especially when it could backfire in their faces. A good thing too – if the Americans had gotten involved when Dumbledore had asked, Voldemort would have retaliated, and it would have triggered a world war with involvement from other magical governments."

Granger stood up and stretched. "I'm going to walk about for a bit." She hesitated, and then, "Would you like to join me?"

He shrugged. "I might as well." He rose and indicated the brightly lit hallway behind them. "I saw a door back there that leads to the gardens."

Once outside, he watched as Granger took a deep breath. "Even the air smells different here." She began walking down the stone path. "I wonder if this was how the Muggleborn colonists felt when they first arrived with the other colonials in Virginia."

"And next you'll tell me that you can smell freedom in the air as well." Draco stuck his hands into his pockets and ambled down the path beside her. "You know, Muggleborns might be accepted here in all levels of society, but that comes at a high price – you wouldn't be able to practice your magic as freely. Where's the freedom in that?"

"That's true – but perhaps it's a price worth paying if it means avoiding persecution."

"Persecution works both ways," he reminded her. "And no matter how hard you try, it will continue in its own destructive cycle. Without persecution, the balance of power would never be maintained."

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Granger.

Draco led them deeper into the woods. "Just consider this: a persecuted group of people becomes unhappy, and then they convince others to join their cause. The group grows larger. Soon, someone arrives to represent them. To lead them against the oppressing wave of injustice. This group of people become a rebellion, and after a battle of either politics or bloodshed – or both, the oppressive government is overthrown, society is in upheaval, and a new government is installed." Draco could see that Granger was trying her hardest not to interrupt. Continuing, "But eventually, the persecuted become the persecutors."

"You're speaking of Voldemort?"

He stopped and turned to face her. "Yes, and of Dumbledore, and of Grindewald, and so on."

Granger, as he had expected, denied his charge. "Dumbledore was of the _Light_," she said emphatically.

"Light, dark – do you really think in such black and white terms?" He held up a hand to forestall her protests. "Your Dumbledore once said that touching the dark side would color the path your life will take."

"He said that during our seventh year at Hogwarts."

"He did have a point." Draco started to walk again, and Granger, unprepared for his sudden movement, hurried to catch up. "Darkness does influence you. But didn't it ever occur to you that the opposite might also be true? That the light could influence a being committed to darkness?"

Granger's eyes were wide. For once, she was stunned. "Well, - "

Draco smiled grimly. "Obviously it hasn't, and I can't say I'm much surprised. Dumbledore and his followers were persistent in their rather one dimensional belief, and because of that persistence, they ignored what was right in front of them. That the dark and light side are exact opposites is not the question, but are _people_ as clear in what they are?"

She did not meet his eyes. "I suppose I never thought of it that way."

"You weren't encouraged to. Too much danger, I guess." His tone was half apologetic, half scornful.

"And what about you? Are you saying the Death Eaters are more clear in their motives?" Granger might have been ambushed, but she was now mounting an attack of her own.

"Not at all," he replied. "Death Eaters are just as blinded by darkness as your Order was by the light."

Her eyes flashed defensively. "The light doesn't blind."

Draco shook his head. "No, but people often use it to blind themselves. Darkness blinds all on its own."

Granger was quiet for a few moments as she digested this. He could see confusion in her eyes – as well as wariness at seeing another previously hidden facet of his personality. "What you are saying…aren't you a Death Eater…a follower of darkness?"

Now he was the one who hesitated. "I have the skills and knowledge of one," he said.

"But you aren't evil?"

"We are all part good and part evil," said Draco, unconsciously mimicking what Snape had told her a few weeks ago.

Granger looked unconvinced. Her manner intensifying, she said, "Your father, the man who raised and educated you, was Voldemort's most loyal Death Eater, and yet you're standing there and telling me that you're not on the dark side? I refuse to believe that. You'd be too ensnared to see the truth because you were trained from birth."

"Trained from birth?" He looked at her with some measure of pity. "Aren't you also ensnared in the willing blindness of your own Order to comprehend the grayness of which I speak?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Unlike you, I wasn't trained from birth."

He snorted. "Do you honestly believe that being trained from birth marks one permanently in what they are trained in? If you do, you're simply foolish, especially when you consider how many people turned to the Dark Side _after_ they graduated from Hogwarts."

Granger cocked her head. "You aren't answering my question – are you light or dark?"

Draco knew that lying would be pointless at this juncture. "I don't know yet."

Granger's expression softened slightly with concern. "You can't hover between the two." Her eyes grew more thoughtful, as if she realized that while discussing the Order, Draco had never claimed that the light side was weaker. He had attacked the Order of the Phoenix, not the light side itself. It was a subtle difference, and one that Draco had not expected her to catch. She stepped closer to him. "But you don't want to choose."

His expressed hardened. "Don't presume, Mudblood." But the taunt fell on deaf ears as she reached out towards him.

This had gone further than he had anticipated because he had miscalculated both himself and her rather badly. Draco grabbed her arm before her hand could make contact with his.

"I have my wand in my other hand," she pointed out, "while yours is still in your pocket."

He hissed in her ear. "I am the weapon." Lucius had trained him to deal with all sorts of situations, even ones like this.

She trembled slightly but did not move away.

Draco had lost ground, and he was not going to get it back today. He had become too sympathetic in her eyes. But perhaps there was a way to minimize the damage.

Moving quickly, Draco once again grabbed her arm and immobilized her, boxing her in with the extra leverage. He grabbed her wrist with his free hand and plucked her wand from fingers too surprised to clench shut. Pressing the tip of the wand against the pale skin of her throat, he leaned close enough so that he was able to breathe the fresh scent of her skin. "Don't ever threaten me again."

With a casual flick of his hand, he lowered the wand. He had already moved away as Granger turned to look at him, her eyes filled with anger – and hate. He did not say anything, just merely watched her as she struggled to calm herself. His sudden violence would probably make her believe that he closer to the dark.

She pocketed her wand. "I see your point." Her voice was frosty, their earlier rapport gone.

"Remember it." Draco deliberately turned his back to her and walked back towards the mansion.

------

Hidden from Draco and Hermione's view, three other people shamelessly listened in on their conversation. "What do you think?" asked Michael Tracy to his two companions.

A wrinkled old man, his skin tanned from years spent in the sun, looked thoughtful. "I see a hummingbird in the girl," he finally said.

Michael exchanged a look with the younger woman who supported the elderly Indian on her arm. For the Indians, hummingbirds symbolized devotion and permanence. It was considered a strong symbol because although small in stature, a hummingbird could be extremely determined in its own territory.

"And the boy,_ Tunksila_?" asked Michael respectfully.

"Harder to say. He is both cougar and butterfly." The cougar represented power, leadership, and swiftness. The butterfly, however, was a transformer, and for the ancient Plains people, a symbol of metamorphosis. Both animals could be good or bad.

The woman spoke for the first time. "_Tunksila_, you are tired. Maybe we should continue this inside."

"Hush, _takoja_." A wrinkled brown hand patted the woman's arm. "I'm old, and death is close. But I'm not dead yet." He peered at Draco and Hermione again. "Under most circumstances, I hate leaving the reservation and coming into a white man's world, but I'm glad you called me here today, _cincala_."

Beside her, Michael grimaced. He was a man in his late fifties, and yet the old Indian insisted on calling him a child. Then again, Grandfather was ancient. He had no idea how old Grandfather really was – in fact, he did not even know Grandfather's real name.

He had always been Grandfather.

The elderly medicine man was one of the most powerful wizards on American soil. Though he held no official position on the council, he was frequently consulted on many important matters. He was one of the few people who were very wise without ever having a formal education.

Grandfather lived on the Yellow Medicine Indian Reservation in Minnesota. Though he could have left his dirt-poor origins, Indians could be a very stubborn people, and Grandfather was nothing if not stubborn. But living on the reservation did have one advantage – unlike the rest of the country, most Native Indians held deeply spiritual beliefs and respected special powers, which in Grandfather's case, was magic.

Grandfather turned away from the two British citizens and began hobbling down the path. "I know Voldemort, and I knew Dumbledore. Fools, I thought them both. Four years ago, when I said we shouldn't involve ourselves in their affairs, I was right."

"Are you saying we should do the same thing?" Michael offered his arm to Grandfather as they ascended the small incline. "The Council found their proposal valid, at least business-wise. If we invest the amount they requested now, we are guarantied a percentage of the profits from their exports, and if the government can remain stable, the amount will only go up."

"Dumbledore offered us those same incentives," said Grandfather.

"Yes, but their economy was just entering a slump period. Our own analysts have privately been looking over their accounts, and the goblins at Gringotts have been surprisingly helpful. I don't believe Britain's economy can get any worse that it is right now. Buying into their economy right now, when shares are at their lowest, is an advantage I'd hate to ignore."

And yet, unsaid was, _Say the word, and I will ignore it_.

"There's more to the situation than money." Grandfather's voice held a hint of reproof. "There are moral questions to answer as well as fiscal ones."

"Like Voldemort?" The woman now spoke.

"Yes." He eyed his granddaughter fondly. Grace Elk River, like him, had been born magical, and also like him, had followed the footsteps of a healer. Shifting to look at Michael, he said, "I'm not sure how long we'll need to worry about Voldemort. From what I have seen, he is like Scarecrow. His unnatural long life cannot continue, no matter how many potions they try to create. No magic is stronger than the magic of Mother Earth, and Mother has said that everyone must one day die."

Michael nodded thoughtfully. "The Council was planning to agree to Malfoy's conditions with some conditions of our own – that we can back out of the deal at any time, with our money returned to us – at the threat of economic sanction if they allow the loan to default, and that we send one of our own to observe their government in action – to alleviate our concerns on how they handle the _moral_ situation."

Grandfather nodded. "Sounds good to me."

"Perhaps, if you're feeling up to it…?"

The old man chuckled. "These old bones wouldn't be much use. I'd be sleeping the whole time." He tapped the ground with his walking stick. "Send Gracie instead."

"Me?" Grace shook her head. "_Tunksila_, I'm not ready."

"You're a fully trained witch, Grace." Michael's mind was already processing the details. Grace had always been gifted empathy – she was a prime choice for this mission.

Her jaw clenched. "I'm a _healer. _Not a witch."

Grandfather placed a hand on Grace's shoulder. "In the white man's world, our Gracie is a witch. In ours, she is more than human. Holy. We do not fear this as the white man does."

"Of course," said Michael soothingly. But in Britain, her magical powers will be more accepted. She can live there without fear."

"I _don't_ live in fear. The reservation is my home; I don't want to leave it. Indians don't do well away from home." Though Grace was looking at Michael as she spoke, she was really speaking to her grandfather.

Grandfather smiled at her. "It is time for you to leave the nest. My dreams say so. Jim Running Dear's dreams say so. You are ours, you will always be ours. But for a time, we will loan you to the British – as an act of peace and friendship. And hope." He looked up at the sky. "Maybe a new world is coming. We will send them Gracie to help. She can teach them. To pray. And to dance."

Michael scratched his head. "Just how do you know all these things, _Tunksila_?"

"The spirits speak to me because I listen."

The white man nodded in acceptance. "I'm going to go inside and tell the others. We can then inform Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger." He inclined his head respectfully and began jogging back the rest of the way.

Grandfather took Grace's arm again. Both walked in silence until Grace finally spoke, "Why are you sending me away?"

"These people need you, Gracie. They don't see magic as anything more than a convenience. They have forgotten to respect that magic. They don't honor their ancestors. And they forget to pay homage to the most magical being of all – the earth itself."

"I can't reach these people on my own, _Tunksila_."

"_Takoja_, we will speak often, and besides, I have drilled far too many lessons into that contrary head of yours. You will be without my company, not my wisdom." His eyes twinkled. "And who knows? Maybe you'll find a man."

"_Tunksila_! You're wicked." Grace shook her head. "White man doesn't go well with the Indian. We've seen the results of that too many times."

Grandfather nodded. "Perhaps this trip will benefit you as well. Who knows, you might even learn a thing or two across the ocean. So pack a pretty dress anyway."


	8. To Be Free

**Chapter:** (08) – To Be Free  
**Chapter Summary:** Hermione gets to know Grace…and Draco.  
**Author Notes:** I've really got to stop with these once in a year updates. I really do plan to finish this story. I swear.

This story was started after GoF, and with the release of the last three novels, _Nest of Vipers_ is now so far into the realm of AU that I wouldn't even be able to reconcile it with canon at any point in the future. So bear with me.

Also, thanks so much for the reviews! The last time I posted here, didn't have the comment reply option, so I'm sorry for not replying. I will start with any new comments that should come in though.

-----

_There is more to liberation than legal freedom._

_--- Bellatrix Lestrange at the Battle of Hogwarts, __Memoirs of a Death-Eater_

-----

Hermione eyed the silent Indian woman seated next to her in the carriage. Their visit to America now over, Hermione and Malfoy were back in Britain, this time with a visitor in tow.

As she had expected, the Americans had agreed to give them aid, but what she had not foreseen was being told that Grace Elk River would be returning with them in order to make sure their money wasn't being spent for the wrong reasons.

Malfoy hadn't batted an eyelash – in fact, he probably didn't care, since he was the best liar Hermione knew, and he would probably be able to mislead Grace as he had misled nearly everyone else in his life.

But Hermione wasn't so good at deception, and while she hated the Malfoys and what they stood for, she also knew who buttered her bread, and whatever hopes she had of eliminating Voldemort lay in ensuring Grace's compliance. Without money, Lucius would be out of power faster than he had taken over.

Right now, the three of them were on their way to Belvedere. Ordinarily they would have returned to Malfoy Manor, but upon leaving the Muggle airport and crossing over to the wizarding world, Snape's carriage had been waiting for them, with a note saying that they were expected at his residence. No explanation was given, though Hermione imagined it had to do with the precious supplies she had purchased from the Americans. Snape had given her a list of rare ingredients that could be found in the United States, and with the help of Michael Tracy, she had been able to track them all down. Since she had used Muggle transportation, she had easily been able to smuggle the illegal materials into Britain.

Their mostly silent carriage ride had been punctuated by short comments from Malfoy and equally short responses from Grace. From Hermione's brief acquaintance of the Native American woman, she tended to speak only when she had something significant to say. Comfortable with silences, her dark brown eyes seemed to assess everything with uncanny sharpness.

She also resented being called a "witch."

So Hermione and Malfoy had been careful to refer to her as a healer – no sense in upsetting such an important person for a minor little detail, though they both thought her aversion to magical societies rather silly.

Breaking the silence, Malfoy raised a hand and pointed to the estate looming in the distance. "That's Belvedere."

Grace flicked a disinterested glance over the elegant manor. "Is that where I'll be staying?"

"No," said Malfoy. "If you wish, we can arrange for you to have your own personal accommodations, or you can stay at Malfoy Manor."

"I need my own space," said Grace.

Granger raised her brows. "Malfoy Manor has more than enough space, Miss Elk River. But if you truly wish to be undisturbed, perhaps your own apartment would suit you better."

"Perhaps."

Malfoy shrugged. "Very well. I'll see to the arrangements when we get home." His voice had a strained quality to it, though why Hermione did not know. From weariness? From muggle exposure? From maintaining a polite façade?

Peeking at him discreetly, Hermione noted that Malfoy's usual cold expression had been replaced with one of tiredness, that his hair – normally slicked back – was now flopping over his forehead, and his clothes, kept meticulously clean and wrinkle free, were rumpled from wear.

For one brief second, Malfoy was almost human.

Then he ruined the moment by snidely saying, "What are you starting at, Granger?"

_What a prat_, said Hermione to herself.

The carriage drew to a halt near the front entrance, and after hopping down, Malfoy held out a hand for Grace. He ignored Hermione, of course, but that was to be expected.

"We could have used the floo," said Hermione idly. "Why do you think Snape sent a carriage?" Apparition, of course, was not possible in such highly secure places as this.

Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe the networks are down again."

Hermione frowned. The last remaining Order members had taken to sabotaging the floo networks in order to create more chaos in Lucius's government. Without the floo, transportation to and from places was a burden. It was a clever way to encourage discord among the populace and undermine Lucius, for whom power was still too new to be certain.

The doors to Belvedere swept open, and Miru, the head house-elf, gestured for them to follow. "Master is waiting," she said.

Grace scrutinized Miru. "I've never seen a house elf before," she confessed.

Malfoy looked at her in surprise. "Really?" For him, house elves had always been part of the furniture.

"It's not that surprising," said Hermione. "I never saw one either until I came to Hogwarts." But before she could say more – she always had a lot to say about house elves – the door to Snape's study swung open.

His study was not as meticulous as Lucius's was. Open books and scrolls were on every available surface, with various jars on the tables and shelves. The air smelled of candle wax and musty pages, and no effort was made to make the place inviting.

It was Snape's private territory, and very rarely did he allow people to enter. Hermione herself had only been here once or twice, and always under his supervision.

"Well?" Snape was seated on his desk, busy scribbling notes onto sheaves of parchment. "Did you bring what I asked?" he said, finally looking up.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Miru will bring down the materials to your lab."

He rose. "Good." Gliding over, his dark robes making him look more imposing than usual, he peered at Grace. "And this is the American?"

"Yes," said Draco, careful to keep his voice respectful. "This is Miss Grace Elk River, of the Yellow Medicine Indian Reservation."

"Welcome to Britain, Miss Elk River," purred the imperious Potions Master, emanating a near-tangible aura of predominant authority. "We have been most _eager_ to make your acquaintance."

The Native American met Snape's scornful eyes. "You are…_most_ gracious, Master Snape."

Both Hermione and Malfoy discreetly stepped back.

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly. "I trust your journey here was without incident?"

"Indeed," said Grace.

"Sit," Snape commanded easily in his strong voice, indicating the vacant chairs in front of his desk. Hermione and Draco obeyed without hesitation. Here was a man whose word was law and knew it; in his hand lay the power to make or break wizards, power that both of them innately respected.

Grace, however, seemed to be free of the awe that had overtaken her younger companions. She slowly perused everything in the study in that silent, watchful way of hers. Her eyes finally landed on Snape, and she examined him openly, unconcerned with the annoyance in Snape's eyes.

Hermione wondered what the Indian woman saw. Did Grace see what Hermione did? Did she see a man who had fought death at every corner of his life? A man who had equipped himself for his chosen life of endurance by the simple process of learning to endure, by stripping away unnecessary flesh and unnecessary appetite, tempering himself like steel to a sinewy hardness of nerve and muscle, a sharp, sometimes cold strength of mind, so that he could be fit to do whatever he might one day be asked to do, not for any one nation or creed or power – his vision sweeping infinitely further than that – but for his fellow men.

When Hermione had first met Snape, instinct had warned her that nothing she did would ever remove that faint sneer from his lips nor lessen, by one degree, that supercilious arch of his brow. Other people had money. Some people had charm. Severus Snape had self-esteem, and Grace, having her own share of it, seemed to know that she must show Snape no weakness, must never, in her dealings with him, be humble.

Snape had probably meant to humiliate Miss Elk River, had meant to show her that here, she was nothing except a poor Native American with none of the sophistication of real witches and wizards. So it was essential that she show him _now_, right from the start, that he could not, and thus stood her ground as he came to stand in front of her.

Hermione and Malfoy watched in fascinated silence as Grace established her own authority. The Indian woman's courage did not fail her, for what else had she to rely on? Who would defend her or do battle on her account? She could not afford to be weak; it was as simple as that. She could not even consider the possibility of surrender nor, suspected Hermione, would Snape. And the territory was his.

"Sit," repeated Snape, the coldness of his voice stealing the warmth out of the room.

Grace nodded and did as she was told, realizing that the time to make stands was over. She had made her point.

Snape settled behind his desk and asked if they wished for any refreshments. When they declined, he steepled his hands and asked Grace generic questions about her purpose here, and after promising to be of service to her – everyone knew he was lying – he then turned to Malfoy.

"Draco, your father could not receive you at your manor because he is currently occupied with other matters there. He does, however, expect all of you to dine there tonight. And that includes you, Miss Elk River."

"Miss Elk River would prefer her own accommodations," began Malfoy, but he was cut off.

"Actually, I had a change of heart. I would like to stay at Malfoy Manor."

Hermione and Malfoy exchanged looks. "That is settled then," said Snape. "I imagine Miss Elk River would like to rest, perhaps to freshen up. Miss Granger, please see to Miss Elk River and provide whatever Miru cannot."

Snape was politely dismissing the two women, most likely because he wanted to talk with Malfoy in more detail about the trip. Slightly hurt that Snape didn't require her input, Hermione rose and smiled at the Indian woman. "Miss Elk River?"

The silent woman nodded at Snape and Malfoy before following Hermione out.

They made their way upstairs silently, both lost in their own thoughts. Up ahead was Miru, gesturing to one of the bedrooms in the guest wing. "Does Master Snape live here by himself?"

"Yes," said Hermione, frowning. "But you don't have to call him Master Snape. No one does, actually…though he is a Potions Master, so I guess you _could_ call him Master Snape."

"What do you call him?"

"You mean besides 'sir'?"

To her surprise, Grace laughed. "Besides that."

More at ease, Hermione said, "He was my professor at Hogwarts – the magical school in Britain," she elaborated. "So I mostly call him Professor Snape, though he's technically not my professor anymore."

"But he still treats you like a first year student, right?" The Indian woman's eyes were bright with amusement.

"Yes," said Hermione, a small smile breaking through. "Miss Elk River, may I ask you something?"

"You may, but only if you call me Grace."

Hermione nodded. "Grace, you seemed so…somber all the way here, and while meeting Snape. But now…?"

Grace trailed her fingers on the ornate wood banisters. "You've never met an Indian before, have you?"

"No."

"We like to consider ourselves a humorous race." She sighed. "I'm afraid I wasn't very polite to your two friends back there, but white men bring out the worst in me."

"I'm white," said Hermione.

Grace winked at her. "You aren't quite. You have some red blood in you."

_Red blood? Wasn't all blood red?_ Suddenly it struck her. "My great-grandmother was Sioux," remembered Hermione. "But how did you know?"

"I'd make something up, but in reality, Michael told me. He ran background checks on the two of you. In detail."

They walked into the room Miru had prepared for Grace. "Well, here you are." Hermione gestured to the room around them. "I'll leave you to your rest. Should I have Miru send up some food?"

"Stay," said Grace. "I'm not really tired. Just hungry." She smiled ruefully. "I'm always hungry. It would be embarrassing if I didn't have such a fast metabolism."

After asking Miru for refreshments, Hermione took a seat in one of the armchairs and watched as Grace sifted through her trunk. "Is it true that Americans hardly ever use magic?"

Grace pulled out a change of clothes and headed into the bathroom. "Yes. We're taught that magic is a tool that should be used only when there are no other options. We don't use it for things we can do on our own – like making tea," she said pointedly as Hermione used her wand to conjure a teapot.

"Yes, but it's here for our use," argued Hermione. "As long as we can control – "

"Ah, but that's the problem, isn't it? Control." Grace's voice floated from behind the door. "When you start using magic for everything, it becomes less of a luxury and more of a convenience, less of a blessing and more of a right. It's human nature to disrespect those things which we don't have to work for."

She came back out, her hair neatly brushed, her rumpled travel clothes replaced by a fresh set. "Those who use magic without appreciating its delicate uses or fearing its inherent perils – they are fools."

Hermione didn't agree but wasn't in the mood for a debate. Though…Grace did have some interesting points. Resolving to bring up the matter later, she took the tray from Miru and assembled the assortment of food on the table.

"Now I have a question for you," said Grace as she sat in front of Hermione. Eying the food appreciatively, "What is Lucius Malfoy like?"

_Dastardly, cold, ruthless, cunning, evil_. Those were the words that ran through Hermione's mind. Grace seemed to know what she was thinking because the amused look was back on her face.

"He's…complicated."

"Surely you can do better than that."

Hermione absently spooned sugar into her teacup. How to describe Lucius honestly without jeopardizing the trade deal? Grace had known an obscure detail about Hermione's ancestry, so of course she would know basic public information about Lucius's personality.

"During the war, Lucius was tasked with recruiting goblins for the Dark Lord's army. Goblins are notorious for being impossible to train, and Lucius was supposed to mold them into a competent battle group. But instead of training them the conventional way, he chose only one goblin to act as his 'general' and taught him only the most rudimentary of commands. Later, when the general and the rest of the goblins mocked his methods, Lucius executed his general and chose another. And from that moment on, the goblins obeyed his every command."

Grace did not blink. "Talk about making your points aggressively."

"Lucius is like that – casually but effectively brutal. I'm not at ease with the violence he likes to employ, but even I have to applaud is foresight. From the beginning, he knew that he would have to kill his first general. It's why he didn't bother to train him in the first place."

"And his son – Draco? Is he like that too?"

The answer was immediate. "Yes. He can be just as brutal – though he is not so polite about it as Lucius."

Grace was slowly going through all the pastries. "I understand that the new government here is trying to impose 'reforms' aimed at muggleborns."

"You know about that?"

"I live in Minnesota, not Mars. We have an owlpost that delivers newspapers. I have a radio too, and it even works most of the time. We hear about what's happening all over the world, even if we don't care enough about it to spur us into action."

Hermione frowned. "That's not right either."

Grace smiled faintly. "No, it isn't. Who said that we have it right in America?"

Thoughtful, Hermione's mind processed the information. She was about to ask something else when she noticed Grace discreetly hiding a yawn behind her hand. "And now I really will leave you to your rest," she said firmly. "Snape won't thank me if you fall asleep during dinner tonight."

The Indian woman looked over at the bed. "I suppose a short nap can't hurt."

"I'll have Miru wake you in two hours. That will give you enough time to get dressed." With a flick of her wand, Hermione had the mess on the table cleaned. Ignoring the reproachful look Grace was giving her, she made her way into the hallway and to her room.

She had a lot to think about.

-----

Two and a half hours later, Hermione woke from her own nap, and after quickly changing into the set of robes that Miru had laid out for her – Hermione always kept a few sets of clothing at Belvedere, given how much time she spent here – she splashed water on her face and fixed her fair. Done with her ablutions, she drifted downstairs.

Grace's low voice could be heard from Snape's library. Curious, Hermione went to investigate.

Inside were Grace and Malfoy, involved in what sounded like an intense conversation. The pair were already dressed for dinner. Malfoy was in a crisp collared shirt, gray slacks, and a dark blue sweater. Grace was wearing a robe decorated by intricate beading.

" – it seems that perhaps gender inequality is not a condition created by muggles or magicals, but simply created by the male psyche," said Grace. "I've always noticed that women, no matter what their class, are bound by the same invisible chains. I used to think that women who grew up with the securities and luxuries of the world would have had the gift of freedom. Not be subject to the same captivities as a woman who suffers hardship and is blinded by the fear of poverty."

Malfoy noticed Hermione's puzzled expression, so he elaborated for her benefit. "We were discussing courtship rituals in Britain."

"You mean between purebloods and the rest of us?" Her voice held a hint of derision that Malfoy acknowledged by inclining his head.

"Yes. I am sure this is not a shock to you, but life is not easy for us either, since our allegiances are strictly to our families, and we have little choice in how we wish our lives to be. This is a burden that is greater on women, for while a man is bound to do what is good for his house, a woman is required to do what is good for her husband."

Hermione had always known of this, in fact, had been subject to gender discrimination herself on more than one occasion. And though Malfoy had not mentioned it – perhaps not wishing to antagonize her in front of their important guest – Hermione knew this discrimination had existed among all wizards, no matter what class or status they held. Times were changing, and most of the people Hermione knew did not subscribe to that philosophy, but she had felt it, had known that when things had mattered, she had been required to do as Ron had said, not the other way around. As Molly Weasley had taken Arthur's commands as law. As Narcissa Malfoy catered to Lucius's every demand. As Ginny had obeyed her brothers out of some deep instinct that took precedence over her own opinions.

Grace seemed intrigued by Malfoy's admission, who continued, "I have seen my mother so very often plan – to make careful arrangements – in order to get herself what has amounted to a measure of fresh air to breathe. She has had to _obtain by stealth_, I suppose, instead of simply asking, or taking, or stating her intentions. And not very drastic intentions either. Just ordinary happenings of daily life."

"Why do you think that is?" asked the Indian woman, her personality bringing out an unusual openness from Malfoy.

"Because we desire you, I suppose. Which makes us afraid of losing you. So we can have no peace of mind until we have put you in chains. And then there's no denying you can somehow manage to easily make us feel small when we are so anxious to be big. Because those of you who do rise above the petty goals we set for you become far more adult – it seems to me – than men ever do. A man will sacrifice himself to get his name in the history books. Quite readily. It takes a woman, I think, to sacrifice herself unseen, unsung, knowing she won't even be thanked for it because Society has cast her in the role of sacrifice. So all she's doing, according to society, is her duty."

Malfoy pursed his lips in consideration. "I suppose it's the same everywhere. In my country, when famine and war strike, it's the women who die first because as a matter of course, they give their food to their children," he said slowly. "You would do that, Miss Elk River. So would Granger. Whereas I might succeed in convincing myself that I had much better stay alive and get a law passed – or start a revolution. In Britain, businesses employ women for the menial labor, not men, because women will work for even less than minimum wage, just so as long as they can get their children fed. I know that. I also recognize it as a kind of courage and maturity few men possess."

Hermione raised her brows in surprise, both at his words and at his unexpected compliment. She had never thought Malfoy capable of understanding. He had never been a sympathetic figure in her life, and this peek into something deeper confused her. And to hear him admitting these thoughts aloud…

Malfoy must have known what Hermione was thinking, for he said, "I'm just as guilty as the others, Granger, and perhaps my crime is worse, because I am aware of it."

"It saddens me to think that for all our efforts to be an enlightened species, in terms of the problems we face, magicals are no different than muggles, are they?" said Grace gently.

Hermione grinned as she realized just what the discussion had been all about. Grace hadn't brought up the topic out of idle curiosity but to show him that perhaps this ridiculous separation Voldemort preached was just that – ridiculous.

A slight hint of red appeared on Malfoy's otherwise pale cheeks. Embarrassed to be caught out, he nodded stiffly, not brave enough to admit that perhaps Grace had a point, but not so much of a coward to deny it either.

Grace asked, "Do you think you have the capacity to change, inside yourself?"

He paused. "I don't know. Change is a difficult concept for us, especially in Britain, where we cling to traditions centuries old."

Before the conversation could get any more personal, Snape swept into the library. "Ready?" he asked, heading straight to the fireplace.

Grace rose, eager to try out the floo. Hermione followed reluctantly, not really wishing to see Lucius again.

But Malfoy lingered in his chair, and feeling his eyes upon her, Hermione glanced up. His gaze held hers for a moment, pewter eyes crinkling at the corners in lazy amusement, and she felt his mind open for her in a way no one's ever had. A moment of contact moved them beyond Pureblood and muggleborn, rich and poor, conflicting roads and contrasting cultures, red blood on white snow at Hogwarts, the cries of the betrayed and the dying, the Death Eater raids and Voldemort's policies of suppression, the despair and anger that had driven them both. For one brief moment, none of that existed between them.

Snape's dulcet voice released them too soon. "If you are finished with dawdling, Draco?"

The curtains fell.


End file.
